Do You Need A Moment?
And now you can pull your hands out of the prayin' position and stop begging prison prophet T.I. to bestow upon you his strong words of wisdom about serious subjects such as equal rights, because he has finally rubbed his only two brain cells together to make a thought! I know, it's what we've all been waiting for. Vibe Magazine caught up with T.I. in between prison sentences and asked him if he thinks all Americans should have the same rights. T.I. said that if the The Un-American Activities Committee still existed today, gays who complained about Tracy Morgan's "I would stab my son if he acted gay" rant should be investigated.
T.I. on all Americans having equal rights
Man, I will say this, the funniest joke I ever heard Tracy say during a stand-up was, ‘C’mon man, I think gay people are too sensitive. If you can take a dick, you can take a joke.’ [Cracks up laughing.] That shit was funny to me. And it’s kind of true.’ While T.I. makes clear that he supports anyone’s sexual preference, he then connects, in his opinion, a current oversensitivity among gay people with a consequential and ironic offense of the First Amendment. “They’re like,‘If you have an opinion against us, we’re gonna shut you down.’ ... That’s not American. If you’re gay you should have the right to be gay in peace, and if you’re against it you should have the right to be against it in peace.’
Now, I can take a dick and I can take a joke, and I can even take both of them at the same time (especially when the joke is the dick), but where was the joke in Tracy's "I WOULD SHANK MY SON IN THE HEAD" rant? If that is considered a joke, then the shit jokes I try to tell on this blog every day would count as jokes too, and then we'd all be in trouble.
Well, if this whole "lifetime jailbird" thing doesn't work out for T.I.'s Jiminy Cricket-looking ass, then he has a bright future ahead of him as Mel Gibson and Michael Richards' publicist.
And the fun didn't stop there, T.I. then talked to Vibe about Osama Bin Laden's "death":
T.I. on being skeptical of Bin Laden's death
The conversation shifts from Muammar Gaddafi’s death—which occurred five days prior—to Osama Bin Laden’s assassination to both Eastern giant’s once empowered relationship with the U.S. government. “It’s like everybody that the U.S. was besties with, years later they’re the worst person in the world,” says Tip. "My question is what character traits do they possess now that they didn’t possess when y’all were besties? What made it go astray, and who’s to say they were on the dishonest end of that?”
The politic’n doesn’t stop there. Before an article can be selected from the "Osama Bin Laden killed" search, T.I. twists his lips in sarcastic fashion and shoots, "If that really happened.”
So you’re skeptical about the legitimacy of Osama’s death?
"Man, I’m a conspiracy theorist by nature. You can’t experience the federal penal system and not be somewhat skeptical."
And this concludes today's "This Is Your Brain On Sizzurp" public service announcement.
What do you think happens when the local news shoves a camera in somebody's car window as they're getting a $500 ticket? They're definitely not going to flash a smile and tap dance with their hands on their steering wheel for you. They might do what Mr. Elmo Shirt did during Stanley Roberts' (or as Mr. Elmo Shirt calls him, "Irrelevant Fatass") "People Behaving Badly" segment for the Bay Area's KRON4. Mr. Elmo Shirt went off and gave us a show! If this fight went down in a cafeteria, we'd all stop chewing on our chicken fangers and turn around. Bitch pulled out every single line from the "You're Fat, I Drive A Fancy Car!" book and wasn't going to let Stanley get away without throwing flame balls at the lens.
It's like he's been training for this his whole life and has been itching to go viral. He's got the tang of Antoine Dodson and I'm pretty sure Excuse My Beauty Stephen taught him how to flutter his fingers like a queen dismissing her court. There are too many snaps in this clip to count.
If this is KRON4's way of trying to get me to Google "Stanley Roberts" to see if he truly is the "fatass" Mr. Elmo Shirt says he is, then it worked!
via The Daily What
Two animal kingdoms became one on Mah Boo 369me last night when Anderson Cooper's obsession with Courtney Stodden reached a fever pitch, and yes, it's making me dip a thermometer in Vaseline. Coopertney (just pretend that worked) attempted to replicate Courtney's signature "sedated Komodo Dragon having a face seizure while choking on a heave ball" facial expression and well....Mah Boo tried.
Trying to recreate Courtney's sexy/snarl/idontevenfuckingknow face is like trying to recreate a Picasso using only a soaked piece of cardboard and a palette of wet fart splashes. It cannot be done and it is impossible. The original is a masterpiece. Actually, if you recreated a Picasso with wet fart splashes on a soaked piece of cardboard it would look a lot more like Courtney's sexyface than whatever came out of Mah Boo's face does.
Courtney's facial expression makes it look like her brain is trying to escape through her face and it can't find any open hole, and it takes a special (see: drugged up) kind of person to pull that off. But if there's ever a contest to find the best impersonation of Mr. Burns licking on an invisible pussy, Mah Boo would be crowned the queen of that shit!
And yes, Google Bots, start stretching, because I will be searching for "how to embed an animated GIF into the back of a pair of chonies" as soon as I publish this bitch.
You can now put a face to your hangover thanks to that still shot of Tara Reid.
Heineken's tagline "Drink responsibly" came on my mind back in August when the blueprint for Lindsay Lohan's life, Tara Reid, married Zack Kehayov (seen below before the booze buzz of happiness wore off) just hours after they got engaged in Greece. Most of us bet all our coins on Tara's marriage lasting until the hotel staff refused to restock the mini bar, but that Land of Gorch-looking trick showed all of us. Tara's marriage didn't last a week and it didn't even last a second. It didn't last at all, because it never happened. Tara says that she and Zack never made it legal.
TMZ caught Tara at LAX last night just seconds after the airport crew cut her weave out of an aircraft propeller when it landed. I mean, either Tara spent a 6 hour flight wrapped around a moving propeller or she accidentally fell into the toilet and got stuck in the septic tank, because I need a whole of DAMNs to describe the messy state she's in. It's like her hair got caught on the hitch of a dump truck speeding out of hell. Tara needs to take a long nap in a Menudo soup bath. But back to Tara's non-existent marriage. Tara told TMZ that she never legally married Zack and she made it sound like they're not even together anymore.
Leave it to the master mess to show the amateur messes how you really scam the media for a quick check. Lindsay Lohan is out there flashing her freckled nipple knobs for money and Tara just collected a check from Life & Style for wedding pictures from a wedding that never happened. Bow down, LiLo. No, seriously, bow down and pick Tara Reid up, because she just passed out on the sidewalk.
.....and it is the exact opposite of this methtastic display of freckled roughness that was spit out of a crack house's toilet and rolled onto the red carpet of the launch party for some video game in L.A. last night. That S in the background doesn't stand for Supper Club. It's the Health Department's newest rating: S for SkeezaSitDown!
The highly flammable weave, the cheeks that make her look like she's storing 8-balls for the winter and her signature collagen labia lips all need more JESUS (or something) in their lives, but Lindsay Lohan's nostrils are another thing. It's like a mob of coke granules did the Occupy Nostrils march right up into her nose innards. LiLo has snorted around the block a few times, so she should know that right after your nose eats a line of the bad shit off of a glove compartment lid in your dealer's Chevy pick-up, you have to settle down your swollen nostrils with some Prep H. Amateur slip-up that disappoints White Oprah so.
Now on to the thing that everyone is hissing and throwing sprinkles of Listerine at:
For the love of Nana Lohan, can't a bitch spike her Red Bull with some fluoride or even some paint thinner. Those Teeths of Meth look like Gollum's fingernails after he fisted a zombie with diarrhea. If you scraped the several thick layers of crack-infused smegma off of her teeth and shoved it into a pipe and smoked it, you'd probably get a quick buzz. That's what dentists called "methavitis."
But being the fashion forward icon that she is, maybe LiLo is way ahead of all of us and knows that the next big trend will be to match the color of your teeth to the color of your ass lips.
By popular demand (aka two friends emailing me), here's Adele walking around Paris singing a song that I always think is a James Blunt song whenever it yodels out of my iTunes. Listening to an Adele song makes me thank Shauna Sand's exquisite lucite heels that she wasn't around during my first major-ish relationship when I was 18. The disc changer in my Mitsubishi Mirage would've never survived if she was around then. It would've been a disgusting display marinated in a gross puddle of sappiness.
Whenever my first boyfriend and I would get into a fight over some stupid shit (examples: Him looking at the waiter at Coco's for way too long. Him not answering any of my 35 voicemails in a timely manner. A timely manner being 2 seconds after I left it. I don't care if you're taking a caca. Cut it short or learn how to push and talk at the same time.), he'd put himself on mute and ignore me for days. This happened almost every week.
Every time he did that, I'd get into my Mitsubishi Mirage and take the pilgrimage (in search of the pathetic me that lounges in the shallow parts of my soul) to his house in the middle of the night. I'd sit in my car and loudly sing along to some easy listening Emo crap while picturing him tapping his peen on the ass cheeks of that skanky, homohome wrecking Coco's waiter! Sometimes I'd sink down into new levels of teenage desperation by leaving my car to drop a small mound of dirt on his porch. I'd go to Denny's, eat a plate of fried woe is me and then I'd go back to his porch to see if the mound of dirt I left was disturbed (it never was). Just a mess that nobody should admit.
So I thank Adele for not being around then or my tonsils, my Mitsubishi Mirage and my first boyfriend's Long Beach neighborhood would've all had to enter the Scorned Gay Protection Program.
The me of today watches this video and thinks: "Bitch, just get new dick! Isn't there a bar around that bridge? Shit."
The teenage me would've called my ex-boyfriend and played this song in its entirety on his voicemail over and over again until his box filled up (throw that image back into the gutter, you sick ho), because it could no longer take the crazy.
The word MESS cannot even begin to describe the awkwardness Kim Delaney from Army Wives filled the stage with at the National Constitution Center in DC last night. Kim, who has had problems with the bottle before, was supposed to give a speech during the Liberty Medal Award presentation to Former Defense Secretary Robert Gates, but she ended up earning a bus ticket to the nearest dryin' out center instead.
Last night was not the time for Kim to show off the skills she learned at Spaz de la Huerta's Drunken Speech Academy. Kim uncomfortably slurred on like a first grader on downers who really has to pee during their book report speech before a crew member issued a SIT DOWN BITCH on her in the politest way possible.
Kim is probably still resting her head inside of a comfortable toilet bowl this morning, so she hasn't said a thing about this mess. But if I was her, I'd blame it all on the teleprompter. When all else fails, use the "I wasn't drunk, the teleprompter was drunk" excuse.
During a press conference at the Toronto International Film Festival for his home invasion movie Trespass (Side note: They should make a Spanish homo invasion threesome porn called Tres Ass), legendary crazy bitch Nicolas Cage spewed out more insane crazy in the form of a story bout how many years ago somebody broke into his house. Surprisingly, it wasn't the repo man coming to take away the Italian Armor Sculpture he bought on Sky Mall. Nicolas says that it was a naked dude in a leather jacket nibbling on a Fudgesicle. Hey, that's the opening scene of my Spanish gay porn Tres Ass! The craziness directly from the crazy's mouth (via Reuters):
"It was two in the morning. I was living in Orange County at the time and was asleep with my wife. My two-year old at the time was in another room. I opened my eyes and there was a naked man wearing my leather jacket eating a Fudgesicle in front of my bed," he told reporters on Wednesday.
I know it sounds funny ... but it was horrifying."
Nicolas said that he was able to talk the nekkid biker Fudgesicle-sucker out of his house before he called the police. Crazy Old Nick never pressed charges, because he says the man had mental problems. Yes, the Fudgesicle-sucker sounds crazier than a Lohanhouse rat, but if you're in a house with Nicolas Cage, you'll never be the craziest bitch in the house. Truth.
You know, if this story came from anybody else whose brain isn't completely marinated in crazy sauce, I'd say they mixed their shrooms with bathtub acid again and forgot that the dude in the leather jacket was actually a leather top they met in the Yahoo chat rooms who quickly taught them that it's not a good idea to drink coffee and eat mushy pears before butt sex. But since this is Nicolas Cage we're talking about, it was totally just a dick flasher eating a Fudgesicle. Or Nicolas woke up in his mirrored room again.
Make no mistake about it. Terrence Howard looks like a dapper, debonair gentleman who only farts into the finest of silk scarves and mostly speaks in a smooth cashmere tone of a Barry White after-cognac burp, but if you mess with his marriage, he will SERENA WILLIAMS out and kill you through the froat! Case in point: Radar says that some moron with dirty ass for brains got a hold of what she thought was Terry Howard's cell phone number.
After getting some liquid courage in her veins, she tried to call Terry but her phone was dead. So she used her male friend's cell phone, called the number and professed her undying love for Bishop Baby Wipes in a voicemail message. But it turns out that the number she thought belonged to Terry actually belonged to his wife. So what is a Terry Howard to do when a strange lady voice verbally blows his ego on his wife's voicemail? Well, he threatens to a kill a trick, of course. Terry left this (click here to get it in your ears) love song on the dude's voicemail:
"Nigga, you been calling my wife... If you call my wife again I'm going to come to your house and I'm going to cut your fucking throat. Understand that. I'm gonna tell you this one time. You call my wife again, I'm going to kill you."
But after Terry went to his calm happy place by sniffing his wife's baby wipes fresh asshole, he called back a few days later to apologize for the misunderstanding:
"I'm so sorry for calling you and speaking that way. I thought you were somebody that's been harassing my wife. Please forgive me. My wife told me that she was receiving obscene text from you and that she was being harassed. Therefore I responded with the protective nature that a husband has for his wife. Forgive me for the anger, but as you are watching over your girlfriend, I too am devoted to my love."
If you're going to get your throat cut up, it might as well be by the hand of Terry Howard. Yes, you would die a slow painful, blood-curdling death and the last face you'd ever see would be the smug crazy face of the dude from Glitter, but at least your crime scene would be as sparkling clean as a newborn baby's fresh out of the womb ass! Terry cannot strut away from a body covered with orifice goo of any kind. Terry would whip out his baby wipes attache (seen above) and clean your body the same way he expects all of his females to clean their caca holes. Your dead body would be so damn clean that even Terry would sit next to it at dinner.
Your family members would walk in on your murdered body and scream "AAAAAAAH!," but then they'd take a whiff of the air and calmly say, "But damn it smells precious in here!" Thanks to Terry!
If one of your wishes in life is to see a freshly waxed chimpanzee with a lisp have a roid-induced stroke while getting anally electrocuted with a taser wand as he tries to jack off with two paws, then it is your lucky day, because this video is the closest you will ever get to fulfilling that wish.
At the end of an episode of Vh1's reality game show Ton of Cash, The Greek Mystique (who is obviously still pissed that he didn't get cast in the role of The Situation on Jersey Shore) was eliminated and he handled that shit with grace and dignity by reciting a line from Rocky Balboa before flipping into a full-blown gorilla rage meltdown. Dude's neck veins tried to bust out on their own and the sound that came out of his mouth is the same sound you'd hear from a pimple being popped if it had vocal cords. Vh1 is a helluva drug.