You Got Got
While some of us were lighting sparklers from our b-holes to celebrate The Silver Fox casually giving up his spot in the glass closet, that Aqualish-looking ass bitch Star Jones said on Today that she thinks he completely choreographed his coming out for maximum attention and to pull up the ratings of his talk show. On today's episode of Anderson, the Rhoda to Anderson's Mary, Andy Cohen, brought up his coming out, and the Silver Fox said that the only thing that tore a strip of silver leaf off of his fox hole was what Star said. Anderson stuffed some dried bitchiness into a tea bag, dropped that tea bag in a mug full of lukewarm tap water and then served it to Star Jones:
"I will say and I actually haven't mentioned this, the only thing that did kind of annoy me and actually it annoyed my mom who brought it up to me, Star Jones of all people, I know you mentioned it on your show. Star Jones of all people, I haven't thought about Star Jones in I don't know how long. I was unaware she was even on TV still but she apparently shows up on a morning show on Today or Good Morning America, The Today Show. Anyway, out of the blue Star Jones said after I sent this email Star Jones said this was a ratings ploy by me to boost ratings."
As Dirt Star Jones ran that burn under cold water, Anderson said that she's obviously letting her ass lips do the talking, because what she said was a pile of dingles and didn't even make sense.
"That's why it so annoyed me because of all the ways to boost ratings, like if I was wanting to boost ratings I would have waited to announce it on a very special episode, that would have been promo'd for weeks and weeks and there would have been commercials, 'Anderson's huge announcement,' and you would have a cut away of the audience but instead I was in Africa on assignment for 60 Minutes, I sent an email to a friend of mine who put it on a website. I gave no interviews about it, I never talked about it. I wasn't even on the air for days afterward and so suddenly Star Jones, who as memory serves, in terms of boosting ratings, I seem to recall her hocking her wedding every single day to get free products when she was on The View and I seem to recall her lying about her gastric bypass surgery and making everybody else lie about it as well. So for her to suddenly emerge out of the shadows and suddenly attack me for this, I couldn't believe it.
And my mom was like, 'Who is Star Jones?' Anyway, so I can't even believe I am bringing this up because I don't even want to give Star Jones the attention. I never planned on talking about this but we invited Star Jones to come on this show and she turned us down."
Star Jones is a scared bitch and that's why she can't face the Silver Fox. But you know, it sounds like Anderson still has some shit to say to her, so I'll be happy to slip on an E.T. costume, throw a black wig on my head and let him slap me, whip me and shade me like I'm Star Jones.
Star's dumb ass is probably already getting punished for this anyway. I can only imagine the cuntified text messages that Gay Al Reynolds is sending her. Now that Star has pissed off the Silver Fox off, there's no way Gay Al will ever get an invitation to Anderson's Sunday afternoon tea party. Gay Al's gay social life is OVAH!
No, that dyslexic butt fuck picture never gets told to me.
Kristen Stewart gave People an open letter to Robert Pattinson where she slurred out a stream of sowwies for dimming the sparkle on his nipple by letting her 41-year-old married director make out with her cooch in her parked car. The statement of words almost made my eyes roll to the left and roll to the right, so bitch definitely wrote it herself:
"I'm deeply sorry for the hurt and embarrassment I've caused to those close to me and everyone this has affected. This momentary indiscretion has jeopardized the most important thing in my life, the person I love and respect the most, Rob. I love him, I love him, I'm so sorry."
Well, I love how it takes UsWeekly catching her with a pussy full of married man mouth to admit that she's humping on RPattz. Hopefully, Kristen Stewart's dumb ass learned a lesson those of us with common sense learned naturally: When you're screwing on a side trick, don't do it out in the damn open for everyone to see. Take that shit to a Super 8 motel room. That's what they're there for. Seriously, bitch can't even cheat right.
UPDATE: Rupert Sanders burped out his own statement, "I am utterly distraught about the pain I have caused my family. My beautiful wife and heavenly children are all I have in this world. I love them with all my heart. I am praying that we can get through this together." And I'm pretty sure his wife is REALLY utterly distraught about the pain of knowing that her husband fucked her over with the humanized version of a skater boy's ripped-off scab.
The scent of burnt turtle anus and melted plastic eyeglass frames was in the air yesterday when Mia Farrow re-tweeted the third-degree burn Ronan Farrow dropped on his dad Woody Allen. This shit is more awkward than the Father's Day lap dance Courtney Stodden gave to Doug Hutchison.
There you were thinking that your relationship with your biological father is so damn dysfunctional that instead of sending him a card yesterday, you sent him an invoice for all the booze you sucked down throughout the year to deal with all your daddy issues. Ronan has you beat! Ronan Farrow is like the smartest person alive, graduated from college at 15, works with UNICEF, inherited more Mia genes than Woody genes and he can drop kick some shade for days. I would say I'm in love, but I don't know if I can fall in love with a dude whose full name is Satchel Ronan O'Sullivan Farrow.
And here's a few pictures of Satchel's brother-in-law hanging out with Soon-Yi and their two daughters in Beverly Hills the other day. I don't if it's the creepy look on Woody's face or the "Bitch, you're going to die" shank eye the Heather Matarazzo-looking one is throwing at us, but these pictures make me want to scream for an adult.
I've never noticed this before, but Brandi Glanville could totally do Eddie Cibrian in his butt hole dimples with her cheeks. That's a sign of true compatibility. Oh, well.
Anyway, thanks to such classic lines as "At least I don't do crystal meth in the bathroom all night, bitch," Brandi Glanville was promoted from part-time foolery maker to full-time foolery make on the next season of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills which is shooting right now. Brandi replaced Camille Grammer, because the producers felt the silicone dragon flower got boring and they knew Brandi will bring the dramatic bitch theatrics. But Brandi has been demoted back down to the second string after her ex-piece Eddie Cibrian refused to let their kids be a part of the show. I see you, Eddie, trying to screw with Brandi's money.
A source tells Radar that Brandi was surprised by Eddie shaking his head to no that shit, because their boys have been on camera briefly before (see: that episode where Brandi's son became a human piss sprinkler on Adrienne's lawn). The source also said, “Bravo wanted her to have her kids on the show in order to expand story lines. But Leann and Eddie wouldn't allow it. Brandi didn’t expect that LeAnn and Eddie would have objections since the kids have been on the show before, but they did. Eddie said they did not want the children on camera on a regular basis. So Bravo said that Brandi would have to stay ‘friend' and not become an official ‘housewife.’"
First of all, what does LeAnn have to do with this? It's not like LeAnn is threatening to hoof Eddie in his home breaking dick rod if he doesn't keep Brandi down (it's totally like that). Second of all, kids should be banned from every Real Housewives show, because they ruin that shit. I can barely sit through an episode of The Real Trashwives of New Jersey, because Gorilla Head is always whoring out her screaming, tutu-wearing spoiled snowflakes. I don't want to see them trying to be models and I really don't want to see them sing songs they wrote. Keep that shit on TLC where it belongs. Some hos purposefully don't have kids to avoid scenes like that. Most of the time, when a child starts singing, that's my cue to exit. One time I was on a subway platform and some kid and his father started singing songs for coins. I almost took the wrong train going ANYWHERE to get away from that ear-curling sound. Now I know why my mom asked if there was an open bar every time I invited her to one of my school recitals.
What I'm trying to say is that wings must have sprouted from Eddie's back, because obviously pigs can fly since he's actually making good decisions.
Don't let the sweet, innocent, puppy dog-loving, slightly wonky face fool you. Josh Hutcherson, that's Peeta Bread from The Hunger Games to you and me, is a hard criminal who pisses on the law. (That sound you hear is Kim Kardashian rolling her ass to the court house to legally change her name to "The Law.") TMZ has a picture of 19-year-old Peeta Bread leaving a Ralph's in Sherman Oaks, CA with a plastic bag full of a bottle of whisky. The source behind this groundbreaking expose tells TMZ that Josh used a fake ID to buy the $170 bottle of Macallan. All together now: ESCANDALO!
TMZ lets us know that Ralph's has opened up an investigation into this SCANDAL and will take any steps necessary. Translation: They will take steps towards the cashier who sold Josh that whisky and hand them a THIS BITCH QUITS YOU slip. Josh's rep had nothing to say about this highly important story, but a couple of weeks ago he dropped some foreshadowing shit on TMZ when he told their cameras that the legal drinking age in the US should be 18 since you only have to be 18 to go to war.
Who hasn't committed an act of fraud by buying the sweet nectar with a fake ID? If you didn't have a fake ID, then you probably stood outside of a 7-Eleven trying to convince adults to live on the edge by buying you beer. We all have! The real story here is that Peeta Bread is able to afford the fancy shit. That bitch should have to suffer through the Strawberry Hill barfs like all of us did when we were teenagers. That's the true crime being committed here.
And I'm also side-eyeing that plastic bag, because every time I go to the Albertson's near my mom's house in an "unincorporated" part of L.A., they get all Bette Midler on my ass when I forget to bring my own bags since plastic bags are banned there. They charge me for a stupid ass paper bag. But I'm not going to complain about the ban on plastic bags in my mom's city, because it does keep the Kardashians out since they're not biodegradable either.
At last night's NYC premiere of the soon-to-be Razzie sweeper W.E., Madge told reporters that she was crossing her fingers and hoping that the academy would be so fearful of her wrath that they'd throw a bunch of nominations at her. Cut to this morning when she woke up in her coffin with a giant bouquet of hydrangeas on top and a note from the academy that read: Thanks, but no thanks. Okay, okay, technically W.E. was nominated for an Oscar (for Best Costume), so I guess the male members of the academy are still a little scared that Madge will crawl up into their beds at night, rip their nutsacks out with one bite and then replace the heads on the Oscar trophies with their gold-plated huevos.
For once, I can't really make fun of the shit that Madge wore to her premiere last night (or the shit she wore while escorting Baby Brahim to his nursery for bedtime). Bitch looks like the evil queen double fisting two tutu-wearing ballerinas. It's totally appropriate! Speaking of fisting, I also can't make fun of Madge's (DO NOT CLICK ON THAT NSFL LINK!!!) veiny testicle hands for once. I thought about it and if I was ever in the market for a silicone fist, I'd buy one modeled after Madge's hand. Four words: Veiny For Your Pleasure. I mean, John Travolta so wants to make sweet love to Madge's hand right now.
Kate Winslet is currently screaming "I'm the Queen of the woooooorld" while spinning on the crotch of Richard Branson's nephew Ned RocknRoll, but before she was doing that she was rubbing her shit all over British hot piece Louis Dowler. The uretha in Louis' heart (yes, we have urethra in our hearts, ask your doctor) was ejaculating hearts over Kate Winslet, but apparently she wasn't feeling the same. When they went on what was supposed to be a romantic holiday trip to Richard Branson's Necker Island, not only did a fire kill one of the villas, but Kate and Louis' relationship also died a quick death that weekend. Kate met that RocknRoll bitch and she quickly dropped Louis on his hot, succulent ass. It's been three months since Kate quit Louis for RocknRoll and he tells the Daily Mail that he's still crying out tears onto his pecs and slathering the wetness all over his nipples (yes, I'm sure that's what he does):
"I don’t think Kate behaved well and it is still very raw for me. I was in love with her and you can’t switch that off overnight. I’m not sure Kate treated me well. Kate came home with me to Cornwall and we just hung out together. She met my parents and family. I thought we were inseparable. I certainly haven’t found anyone else since. I don’t want to go into details but it wasn’t a straightforward break-up. I’m a laid-back guy, so I am not walking around with a long face — but I do still hold a torch for her."
Who knew that Kate Winslet is a heartless, man-eating, shameless heart-stomping cunt slut? I think I love her now! But before I join the Kate Winslet Is A Man-Eating SCRAG BITCH fan club, I should help Louis during this difficult time. I'll put on a Kate Winslet mask, strap two pizza dough mounds to my chicken chest and let him get some closure on....my no-no. It's the human thing to do.
When Elle Decor asks the high cuntess of pretension Fishsticks Paltrow about some of the things she can't live without, you know it's going to be good. Fishy finally gets to GOOP to a magazine that GOOPS her same language. It's like two ivory-gilded assholes gently rubbing together to make grandiose music that the ear drums of the poors can't hear.
Fishy basically lets us know that when the apocalypse begins next year, her shanty shack will have a galvanized bathing tub on its bunk and lanterns made of her servants' skin will line the shelf that holds all of her religious books (note: you know the only thing on that religion shelf is an autographed copy of her own cookbook).
Put on your YUBZ retro eyeglasses so you don't get GOOPiation and read all about the things Fishy cannot live without:
1. De Gournay Hand-Painted Wallpaper
I indulged with one wall in my London living room covered in a gorgeous pattern.
2. Seasonal Flowers
I like single-variety arrangements—peonies, hydrangeas, and white lilies—casually arranged.
3. Darren Almond’s Photography
His arresting, large-scale artwork brings a sense of majesty to a room.
4. Charles Edwards Star Lanterns
I hung three of these at different levels in the stair hall so that we could pass them on our way up to bed at night.
5. Antonio Lupi Baia Tub
It’s in the middle of my bedroom—perfect for a relaxing wind-down and for bathing the kids.
6. Juxtaposed: Religion Shelf
Built-in slots hold holy books—including the Qur’an, Bible, and Tao Te Ching—all at the same level (which is how I like to think about religion).
7. Clothbound Penguin Classics
These gorgeous editions make the books so tempting to pick up, again and again. The ultimate cure for sore muscles.
8. YUBZ Retro Handset
A handset cuts down on cellphone radiation. I use this one for my BlackBerry calls.
I know you can't wait to use the "brings a sense of majesty to a room" line when you're showing your guests the Thomas Kinkade blanket hanging on the wall over your Jennifer Convertible.
You know, I bet the bathtub in the bedroom was Chris Martin's idea. When Fishy's in bed, creaming at the gills about indulging in wallpaper, the tub in the bedroom makes it convenient for him to dunk his fat head into until the bubbly image of death fills his eyes.
But Fishy's tub in the bedroom ain't shit. Bitch needs to get a tub in the middle of her kitchen. You haven't lived until you've washed your taint with one hand while rotating your Hungry Man meal in the microwave with the other. That's true practical luxuriousness!
While the malnourished luckdragon of Mississippi partied with Eddie Cibrian at Chicago's Lollapalooza this past weekend, she showed everyone (read: the photographer's camera) a fake tattoo she got on the side of her carcass. The temporary tattoo is of her wedding vows and was made using the dark tears her stomach spits out because it's HONGRAY. LeAnn's tattoo says this:
"You gave me the courage to be truthful. I promise to give you the comfort to be trustful."
Can a tattoo cross itself, because that one totally is. That really is the eye roll of tattoos. I can get "I Want A Hot Clit In My Mouth" inked into my body, but that doesn't mean the tattoo is going to compel me to follow through with it. (And now I suddenly want "I Want A Hot Clit In My Mouth" tattooed on my lips.)
LeAnn then went on Twitter and tried to act like she was shocked that the media is talking about a fake tattoo she got so that the media can talk about it.
Too funny! I got a stencil not a tattoo! Its not "news"... however, I can't get it off. In search if rubbing alcohol I think!
That is too funny. "I can't get it off. In search of rubbing alcohol" is the exact line Eddie Cibrian is going to huff out when his side whore tells him she's uncomfortable with him finger banging her with his wedding ring on. No! Eddie Cibrian isn't that stupid. He's a seasoned cheater now. He only wears a clip-on wedding ring.
Lorenzo Lamas kept holy matrimony spinning in its grave over the weekend when he made 24-year-old Shawna Craig his 5th wife and future ex-wife in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Like every thing that penetrates through the lucite bubble that covers Shauna Sand, the name "Lamas" does not want to leave her and will stay on as her legal last name. The constitution (and the laws of the gods) CLEARLY state that there can only be one Shauna Lamas existing in the 50, so this Shawna Craig trick has to keep her last name! BUT WAIT! A different idea has slithered into one of the pockmark's on Lorenzo's face and crawled up into his brain. Lorenzo will take Shawna's last name instead. Presenting Lorenzo Lamas-Craig!
Lorenzo's manager tells E! News that he's proud to become the first celebrity (?) to do such a thing! Such a fucking pioneer, that Lorenzo.
"He's going to legally change his name to Lorenzo Lamas-Craig. He's always thinking outside the box so he decided to become the first celebrity to take his wife's last name. His new wife didn't want to be called Shawna Lamas for obvious reasons."
Lorenzo Lamas is as crazy as his face is beat if he really thinks I'm going to call him Lorenzo Lamas-Craig. Typing and saying those extra syllables are just a waste of time. Time I can spend finding the 12-year-old slut from the 1980s that Shawna Craig snatched that half-sweater from. Besides, this marriage is going to last about as long as the will of a mortal man when he stares into the angelic eyes of the Empress of Lucite, so he'll be Lorenzo Lamas again in a quick minute.
Here's Lorenzo Lamas and his toddler bride Shawna Craig being greeted at LAX by a young child actor they totally hired from central casting. This really does count as an act of child abuse.