We Can All Go Home Now

If you can crush a beer can from 20 feet away just by squeezing your ripped butt cheeks really fast and if you can crack a dude's pelvic bone just by bumping into him while he's hitting it from the back, then put down that Hummer you're bench pressing and cartwheel toward A-Rod's Miami mansion.

Cameron Diaz's former lift partner had a party at his house the other day and dude must've spiked the roid punch with angel dust, because bitches were going wild. Hos, who are more ripped than a plate of ropa vieja, jumped out of trees and tried to touch the sun with their rock hard crotches. If they were that Tarzan wild during the day imagine how they were later on when the lights went out and A-Rod fluffed his titties for "private" time.

I bet A-Rod isn't even trying to sit today. One of those crazy buff beauties probably ate the feeling right out of his ass right before she bashed in his coccyx (wink wink) by spanking him too hard. A-Rod probably doesn't even mind that he has to squeeze a friend's hand hard when he shits today. FREAK!

And when is somebody going to finally introduce that muscle-worshiping queen A-Rod to England's Finest Rose?! That is a match made in HGH heaven.

Conan O'Brien ended his week of shows in NYC last night with a grand finale featuring the ginger giant with hair like a wave crashing in the sunlight officiating the wedding of his costume designer Scott Cronick and Scott's parner David Gorshein. Some cynical hos have put a STUNT QUEEN crown on Conan's head for doing this for ratings, but it looked genuine and sincere to me. I mean, don't get me wrong, it wasn't as genuine as a 10 hour-long, $15 million TV wedding shittacular between a hallow fame eater with butt meat for brains and a rock creature oaf in a tux, but it still seemed genuine to me and it's progress! Besides, Scott and David probably wanted to get married on TV, because they wanted as many eyes as possible to see their Say Yes To The Blazer ensembles. You cannot argue with this. And I've never noticed, but Conan is so damn tall that he makes everybody around him look like they came from the Shire.

Okay, maybe I have one problem with this shit. I am mad at Conan for letting an opportunity sashay by him. The opportunity I'm talking about is spelled R-O-J-O-C-A-L-I-E-N-T-E! The ratings scale would've set fight to itself just thinking about Conan, Rojo and Cynthia Nixon on the same stage together. As soon as that ginger trifecta assembled in the name of ginge gayelle love, Daylight Savings would cancel itself, winter would stay in its frozen demon hole and it would be summer for the rest of the year.

When you're breathing hot air into your palms to rub on your freezer burnt culo lips this winter, curse Conan's name as you do it.

When the avalanche of HAHAHAHAHAHAHAs out of my mouth crashed straight into the Kardassalanche yesterday, my priorities got knocked out of order and I completely missed posting these pictures of The Silver Fox as the original Silver Fox (according to Connie Chung). I know, what kind of self-respecting crazed obsessive stalker am I? It's not enough that I'm currently reading The Hongray Games and picturing that Foxface girl as Silverfoxface girl, I should've paused everything and used my bandwidth on posting these priceless visible giggles instead. Well, as my slutty high school friend used to say about her period (aka a bloody sigh of relief), better late than never!

So here's Mah Boo dressed up as his personal hero Phil Donahue for the Halloween episode of his talk show yesterday. The fact that Mah Boo as Phil Donahue looks more like a young Leslie Nielsen as Sophia Petrillo in a Schoolhouse Rock cartoon should wrap my badly dented soul with a hug of warm giggles, but I'm disappointed that his hero is Phil Donahue. Not because I think Phil Donahue isn't hero-material, but because Phil Donahue is always wearing clothes! It was Slutoween and Anderson completely covered up his whitecap chest and double white moon nalgas. Why oh why couldn't his hero be a trick whose torso is allergic to cloth and whose nipples enter a room before they do? You know, a trick like Courtney Stodden (who is obviously Mah Boo's REAL hero, let's be real). Boo at Mah Boo's Slutoween costume!

But a special thanks to the lady soldier with the honey hair flip in the front for shooting airy hearts at him with her eyes for the both of us.

Do not let anybody tell you that a KFC family pack cake, 3 Subway $5 foot-longs, a half a bottle of orange juice, mayo packets, a trash can full of broken down cardboard boxes, Tracey Gold as The Grudge girl and a dining set from Ashley Furniture DOES NOT a party make. If they don't believe your ass just show them this picture of Kirk Cameron blowing to his 41 years on earth at an office birthday party whose budget was twice that than his movie Left Behind.

So what if those two ladies look like the happiness has been sucked from their beings and they would rather be 69ing a urinal or trapped in file cabinet field under fluorescent lighting. This is Kirk's big day and he's partying so hard that he's throwing up a dick. Or maybe he's sucking up an upside down dick. I know you see it. If you don't, then the power of Christ compels you to see it!

Source: Buzzfeed via The Hairpin

I am not the one to judge a bitch for how they choose to spend their money since I may or may not have been known to spend mine on an autographed Phoebe Price portrait from eBay and a whoopie pie pan (It makes whoopie pie shapes!!!!), but how astronomically fucked in the brain do you have to be to spend the price of two Khias (the rapper, not the car) on some shit designed by the Olsens?! You might as well roll 39,000 $1 bills into a giant butt plug and shove it up your culo, because that's a better way of shitting on $39,000 and it looks more attractive than carrying around a bag that can be mistaken for a giant cockroach with eczema.

Ashley Olsen told WWDD the other day that their high-end line The Row started selling the crocodile-skin bag at Barney's last July and it doesn't stay on the shelves. Ashley stopped prune-ing with her mouth for a second to explain, “It was the first thing that sold off the shelf. During our last economic crisis in the U.S., the only thing that went up was Hermès."

If I had $39,000 to spend on a bag, I wouldn't carry a bag in the first place. A bedazzled kangaroo would carry all of my possessions in her pouch. But if you want to spend $39,000 on a bag, then I'm sure there's higher class shit out there than what the Olsens are peddling. I mean, Lisa Frank makes a limited-edition fanny pack made out of acid penguin hide and that's a better investment than anything sold by the Olsens is. Do you really want to tell people on the street, "Oh, this thing? No, it's not from Wilsons Leather, darling. It was $39,000 and made by those troll twins who got their start by shitting in their diapers on national television!"

And Crocodile skin?! Is that what those evil swindling minions of hell are saying that mess is made out of? Troll, please. We all know that the Olsens are just mutated geckos. They each shed a new bag off of their body every three weeks.

Proving that he's the hardest working dead dude in the game, a 20-year-old sex tape starring Tupac Shakur, a determined groupie slut and Digital Underground's Money B is about to be released for your fapping (or cringing, or fap cringing) enjoyment! If you're currently wrestling with your morals (HA!) and wondering if you should break one of your porn-watching rules (No twisting your nipples to dead dude dick...except John Holmes), then stop your worrying and pull up your panties. TMZ's description of Tupac's blunts and beej tape sounds about as erotic as the "smell my punane" scene from Poetic Justice.

The 5 minute-long tape opens in someone's living room in 1991. Tupac struts into the room with his pants around his ankles, his nipples exposed, a cocktail in one hand, a blunt in the other and his peen in the blow job-ready position. Tupac grabs a ho from the groupie pile and gestures for her to "KEEP YO HEAD DOWN" as one of his unreleased songs plays in the background. Tupac sings along to his song, swishes his hips and doesn't spill a drop of the cocktail in his hand. Money B strolls into the room and Tupac throws his cocktail hand around his friend's shoulder and the two dance together. Meanwhile, the group slut keeps her mouth full of California Love and doesn't let the peen slip once during all of that dancing and shit. The tape ends with Tupac letting the groupie know that he's down to fuck. ...And that is how dreams are made.

That is the exact same story Lil Wayne tells all of his ten million children when they ask him where babies come from. It's also the exact same story Pimp Mama Kris told Kim Kardashian when she asked where recording contracts come from and how can she get one.

But seriously, that hilarious mess sounds 99% better than most of the celebrity fucks tapes out there. It also sounds like the treatment Usher is going to present to the recording company for his next video with Justin Bieber. ....And that is how fap dreams are killed.

By now you've probably already pulled out your eyeballs with rusty pliers, marinated them in a pot full of boiling chloroform and shoved them back into your sockets just so you can send a roll of duct tape to the Dancing with the Stars Costume Department Attention: Nancy Grace's Nipple Handler (aka Satan). But coming to Dlisted proves that you hate yourself so you might as well fully hate yourself by getting a second serving of Nancy's NSFW succulent titty pepperoni.

It was only a matter of time before "Nancy Grace nip slip" became the #1 search term on AOL in the ninth circle (Yes, in the ninth circle they only have dial-up AOL with NO SECOND PHONE LINE). Last week, Nancy's chichis were jumping around like her sanity cell trying to find the door marked "Exit" in her brain. It was bound to happen. Nancy's dance partner is a hot piece in every way so you really can't blame her chichis for popping a boner of sorts.

But seriously, Nancy's peek-a-boo nipple plate was a win for three reasons: a) The West Coast cutaway shot of the NOT AMUSED audience members was the perfect response to Nancy's slippery nipple. b) A Nancy Grace nip slip is like a "Who's the sexy bitch now?" wink at Casey Anthony. c) Dancing with the Stars definitely needs more nipple slips (I'm looking at you, Tom Berg). It should really just be Nip Slipping with the Stars.

Here's Nancy doing the Quickstep as her nipple did the Quickjump:

And Nancy's nip might've been the breakout (literally) star of the night, but the runner-up was definitely the hot lady on Tom B's right who got some much-needed camera time before J.R. Martinez's dance:

Must've been hypnotized (or temporarily blinded) by the nipples in the air.

(Thanks Travis!)

It was nice of Mel Gibson to make an OY! THIS BITCH face so you don't have to.

The Hollywood Reporter says that noted supporter of the Jews and honorary rabbi Mad Mel somehow got Warner Bros. to back the movie he's writing about Jewish hero Judah Maccabee. In other news, Michele Bachmann has announced that she's quitting the "trying to run for president" thing to make a documentary about Robert Mapplethorpe.

Wikipedia says that Judah Maccabee is one of the greatest warrior heroes in Jewish history who led a revolt against some king named Antiochus IV, took over Jerusalem and restored the Holy Temple. That victory is now celebrated by Hanukkah. It makes sense that Mad Mel would be the one to write this story since whenever you think of Hanukkah, you immediately think of Mel Gibson! Wait. Stupid ass me. I'm getting my "kah" sounds confused again. Whenever you think of Mel Gibson, you immediately think of the word "cunt." Yeah, that's what I really meant.

Mel doesn't know yet if he wants to direct or take a role in the movie. He's currently just writing the script with my favorite screenwriter Joe Eszterhas. And why is Joe Eszterhas my favorite screenwriter ever? Here are 4 reasons why:

1. Basic Instinct
2. Sliver
3. Showgirls
4. Jade

The Hollywood Reporter is also reporting (no, they're not) that John Galliano is in talks to design costumes, Vanilla Gorilla has already signed on to play the lead role and Mel's contract states that he must get paid with blowjobs before Jacuzzi (still not going to happen, but nice try, you glum cunt).

11-year-old Caroline Gonzales won a "Mayor For A Day" contest for kids in her hometown of Forney, TX and her first official order of business was to name a street after her personal Jesus: JUSTIN BIEBER. That STOP sign next to Carline perfectly sums up all of our reactions to this mess.

E! News says that the town came up with the contest, because they're trying to get kids into politics and government. When Caroline was asked WHY?WHY?WHY?WHY? by the people of Forney as they packed their stuff into a U-Haul to move far far away, she said, "Because I really like Justin Bieber. I like his music and I like him. And I thought, why not have a street in my hometown named after my favorite singer?"

If that sign is a permanent thing that will forever live in Forney, then I hope it's on a street that is nothing but a stretch of desolateness full of abandoned warehouses, killed dreams and crack shanties. Because can you imagine living on Justin Bieber Way? Every time you typed in "Justin Bieber Way" in the credit card information box on a porn site you want to join, your boner would die along with your will to go on living.

On ONE positive note, at least Caroline is a kid who is doing stupid kid shit even if it's a nightmare for everybody else. If my 11-year-old self was named Mayor For A Day of Forney, my first order of business would be to change the name of my town to Horney, TX. Shit, that would still be my first order of business. I should've entered that contest.

Today, 25-year-old panty model Florence Brudenell-Bruce (or "Flee" as her friends call her) is framing a bright shiny ginger pube as her punane sheds a single tear, because her ride on Prince Hot Ginge's piping hot crotch scepter has come to an end after two months. To which I say the same thing I hope PHG says to Pippa Middleton when she tries to get more pap attention by climbing up his fiery tower: BYE, BITCH!

A source type says that even though Royal aides (whoever the hell that is) approved of Flee, Prince Hot Ginge is not done knighting blonde vaginas with his peen so he decided to de-Flee his ass. The source went on to tell the Daily Mail this shit, "Harry has a lot on his mind at the moment. He is concentrating on his Apache helicopter training. After that he's expecting to return to Afghanistan. Harry enjoyed spending time with friends over the summer, but he doesn't want to be tied town in a relationship when training, so he called time with Flee."

PHG also knew it wasn't going to work out with Flee, because he's leaving for helicopter training in Arizona and won't be back until Christmas.

I never bothered making a voodoo doll of Flee out of overcooked spaghetti noodles and a Dollar General plastic doll, because that would be a waste of overcooked spaghetti and a Dollar General plastic doll. Just like the pocketbook that is permanently glued to The Queen's hands, this relationship was going nowhere.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a bus ticket to Arizona to buy and an Apache helicopter costume with easy access holes to make.