TMZ says that right after Lindsay Lohan crashed her Porsche into an 18-wheeler on PCH, police found a bottle of booze lying next to her car and one officer said the smell of alcohol was wafting out of her mouth. LieLo told the cops that she wasn't driving the Porsche, but a bunch of witnesses saw her driving and said she switched places with her assistant right after she butt fucked the 18-wheeler hard. The police didn't give LiLo a Breathalyzer test, because they knew it would explode if she blew into it and they didn't want to deal with broken equipment. They didn't give her a sobriety test at the time, because they thought she was a passenger and there's nothing illegal about being a drunk passenger. (If there was, I'd be on death row.) They also didn't give her a sobriety test, because they knew she'd fail and they'd waste their time by arresting her since nothing ever happens to her.
Before LiLo's dumb ass fired Shawn Holley without knowing it, Shawn was working on a plea deal in the case. After Shawn told LiLo that she'd rather suck off a lamprey than continue to be her lawyer, the plea deal was taken off of the table. But LiLo's new lawyer, that buffoon Mark Heller, is currently negotiating a new plea deal that'll keep her ass out of the clink. The Santa Monica Attorney is offering LiLo 60 days in rehab and community service in New York if she pleads no contest to lying to the cops about driving her Porsche. They also want LiLo to go to a bunch of AA meetings. Mark Heller and the SM Attorney are expected to make a deal today...maybe.
So to recap: this freckled piece of foreskin lint was most likely driving drunk and she lied to the cops, and she's still not going to jail. I used to think that coming out of White Oprah's snatch was a curse, but I guess it was a gift. You get to do whatever the hell you want.
And I bet that part of the deal is that the LAPD will have to give LiLo two bottles of vodka. One bottle of vodka is for the bottle of vodka she had to pour out on the side of the road when the cops showed up after she crashed her Porsche into that semi. The second bottle of vodka is for ruining her buzz by asking her a bunch of questions after she crashed her Porsche into that semi. I mean, can't the cops just let Lindsay Lohan drive drunk in peace! (Apparently, they can and they are.)
Protip: Don't ever get boozed up with Josh Brolin at a bar, because when alcohol hits his veins he turns into a loud mess (who doesn't?) and he will ruin your buzz by getting arrested. Josh proved that on New Year's Day when the police in Santa Monica put handcuffs on him for being a drunken disaster in public.
TMZ says that Josh Groban (typo and it stays, because today is one of those days where I really need the image of Josh Groban getting arrested for being a public drunk) caused a scene in Santa Monica on New Year's Day and that scene was co-produced by Jack Daniels and Grey Goose. Josh Brolin was brought in for public intoxication at 3am and released 4 hours later. He was only given a citation, so he doesn't have to go to court.
A source says that Josh was with a bunch of his guy friends and had a little too much fun.
Josh was arrested in 2004 for allegedly getting physical with Diane Lane during an argument, and he was also arrested in 2008 for getting into a drunken bar fight in Louisiana.
Well, the good news is that at least Josh Brolin didn't throw fists this time. But really, stay home, Josh Brolin, you're drunk! Dude needs to get drunk in the privacy of his own home, because as far as I know, if the ficus tree in the corner of your living room looks at you funny, you can't get shuffled into the police station for drunkenly yelling at it. I think.
SOMEONE is in serious need of a gay in their life. Here is the original Lindsay Lohan (sans the criminal record that reads like the Iliad) Tara Reid, moon-walking the WRONG way through Paris with a mystery man on her arm and a severe case of WHAT. The. Fucking. Fuck. on her feet. What is going on there exactly? Is that duct tape?
Those fUGGs look like the Terminator had sex with my third grade galoshes, and that is some sick shit that I don't want to think about ever again. I don't know whether to re-attach my car bumper with them (it's a rural southern US thing, shut it) or wrap them around a baking potato. NO. I'm so messed up by her dire shoe situation I can't even bother caring about who the new trick is. Okay, you're right, I wouldn't have cared anyway, but my point is that shit is distracting.
Other than the Dollar Store dented Tin Can rejects, I have to say Tara is looking pretty decent-ish here. Of course, I'm using her St. Tropez visit a couple of weeks ago as a yard stick so, basically I mean she's standing erect and not looking like Beer Bloat Barbie.
She needs a couple of buckets of KFC and a six pack of Guiness Extra Stout ("A 6 pack? Of what, cases? What the hell are you talking about?" - Tara), but other that that she looks sober and happy. I kind of have a soft spot for her. Us drunk hoochies have to stick together, you know.
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.
SO. Even Miss Cleo saw this coming. TMZ reports that Maria Shriver has officially filed for divorce papers against AHNOLT. Details are that Maria is citing irreconcilable differences (pretty nice of her, I think), there is no pre-nup, and she wants custody of the two minor children they have together, 17 year old Patrick Arnold Shriver Shwarzenneger and 13 year old Christopher Sargent Shriver Shwarzenneger. No word yet on who gets custody of Arnold Shwarzenneger's leventy-billion other children.
Ahnolt will not be back this time. You go Maria, get that 50 percent from that last 13 years. I hope the state of California paid Arnold first with their broke ass.
In totally unrelated yet so related quit-this-bitch news, it's been quite a ride. I wanna say how grateful I am that so many of you piled into my 1995 Ford Escort while Michael K's Bentley was parked at Times Square (okay they totally took the subway but work with me people). Whether my posts made you giggle or groan longingly for MK, I'm proud to have been given this opportunity to help out the hardest working ho on the blog stroll in his hour of need. Michael, it was such an honor to walk a mile in your stilettos and be the tofurkey to your delicious surf and turf, you brilliant slut. *bows deeply*
That being said, THANK GOD MK IS BACK and I can go back to busting celeb balls (without a condom, as is the custom in HoWood) in the relative anonymity of the threads!!! Watch for my upcoming book "In Love With A Gay Man: The Life And Times Of Sweetas". Till then, I'll see you all in the comments section.
Much love (you know where), Sweetas
I finally made it to Texas after a million delays and unfortunately I didn't score any street meth like I hoped I would. But some drunken trick in torn jean coochie cutters and a midriff outside of my hotel told me I looked like a "white Bruno Mars" so that was pretty much the only mind altering fuckery I needed this morning. And on to more mind altering fuckery, below is my liveblog of the Royal Wedding Spectacular Extravaganzzzzzz(emphases on the "zzzz")a with The Morton Report. I can't promise that I won't pass out in a puddle of my own slobber and start morningdreaming about skipping through my own saliva pools with Prince Hot Ginge and that wedding cake-wearing puppy. Actually, that sounds better.
But I'll try my best to NOT do that. My own royal wedding drinking game should help with that. Every time The Queen starts open mouth snoring or PHG throws a "Where is the open bar?" look, I'll take a shot of the complimentary facial cleanser in the bathroom (there's no suitable booze in this joint). Now on to this mess (my ass is watching NBC, by the way)!
That Oscar statue is not doing a good job of hiding the intense jealousy and contempt he feels towards Valentino. Oscar spends several painful minutes getting dipped in piping hot liquid gold and Valentino's pores just naturally secrete precious metals on their own. Stay jealous, OSCAR! So, it is that time of year when we all spend the next 3 hours (give or take, 100 hours) watching beaded and diamond-encrusted hos read from a teleprompter and thank whoever for making this LIFE CHANGING MOMENT happen...blah..blah.
You know, next year, they should all get in their fancy clothes, sit in their fancy seats and then watch a giant screen in front of them that shows us getting WASTED while watching them. We'd all have a better time, I'm sure. Speaking of slurring like the king before Best Actor is announced, I was going to come up with a drinking game for tonight but let's be real... The true drinking game is boozing until your liquor cabinet yells CUT or until the bartender puts a cup of Sanka in front of you.
For the next 56 million hours, I'll be live Twatting this bitch. You can follow me over there or on the little widget thing below. Or you can do neither and go to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts to watch the homeless drunks fall asleep in their booths (take me with you). If you do the latter, make sure you kick at me at the end of the night to make sure I haven't overdosed on Natalie Portman's laugh or James Franco's artistry.
If I survive tonight, there will be a complete rundown tomorrow. We're off!
Thanks to the sweet nectar I'm already winking and smiling like Mickey Rooney next to a pair of young chichis. So if you don't have drunk spots on your forehead yet, DRINK UP because it's going to be a long ass night. Get your drinkin' wig, the drunk liveblog is below:
Grab the Boone's Farm and fill up your bong, because it's once again time for the Golden Globe Awards. And just like every year, we're all in this together! When you start to reach for the noose because you just can't take it anymore, I'll pull your head back and drop Jagerbomb in your mouth! Because that's what I'm here for. Although, I can't promise that my TV won't "accidentally" switch to HSN halfway through which will force me to start liveblogging that instead.
My only hope for tonight is that if Carey Mulligan is announced as the winner for Best Actress, Mimi Carey's drunk ass hears her name instead and stumbles on stage to accept the award. Close your eyes, kiss a bottle of Andre and make a wish that this happen.
The drunkblog is beeeelow. It starts at 8pm EST (Escandalo Slut Time):
Can you believe the decade is already over? It seems like it was just yesterday that we were all boozing, bonging and blowjobbing in 2000. And now we're going to be boozing, bonging and blowjobbing in 2010! CRAZY! Time flies when you're a drunken whore.
Anyway, I want to wish all of you a very Happy New Year! And if you've already banged in the new year, I want to wish you good luck, because I'm sure your drunk ass is doing one of the following right now: a) trying to protect your asshole in jail b) trying to break into your local free clinic to get a hold of a morning-after pill or c) trying to find a church that is still open so that you can cleanse your sin-covered skin in a bowl of holy water.
And I also want to thank you for joining me during this year full of fuckery. When I dry heaved, you dry heaved right next to me. When I slapped my nipples and pinched my taint, you slapped your nipples and pinched your taint right next to me. When I worshiped at the feet of Chicken Cutlets, you logged off and called Bellevue. We did it together. And hopefully, we'll do it all over again next year.
Speaking of Chicken Cutlets, here she is to wish all of you a frecklelicious 2010! Now log off and call Bellevue. I'll be waiting with a Straitjacket Snuggie on. Happy New Year!