Fancy

One day you're wiping up another child's barf as the nanny, then you're humping Tiger Woods on your wedding night, then you're chasing him down with a golf club and then you're bulldozing down the $12 million Florida mansion you bought with your $100 million divorce settlement. Elin Nordegren is truly living the gold digging dream! Tiger Woods wrecked his own house by sticking his wandering peen into the chocha of every Waffle House waitress in Florida and now Elin Nordegren has wrecked her own house the old-fashioned way.

TMZ says Elin bought the 9,000 square foot, 6 bedroom, 8 bathroom beachfront mansion in North Palm Beach for $12 million in March. Elin must be a disciple of Teresa Giudice's "living in a used house is gross" way of life, because she has torn it down and is planning to build her dream mansion complete with a gallery that will house the torn-off nutsacks of Tiger Woods, which was part of her settlement.

Isn't this sort of thing a regular sport for the one percent? Whatever. Elin Nordegren earned the right to be wasteful as shit and build a multimillion dollar museum to celebrate the achievements of her perfect gold digging game.

But really, this post was just an excuse to pay tribute to a future gold digger that dropped on my radar during last night's episode of Toddlers & Tiaras. I present to you....ALANA!

“I want monaaaaay! A dolla make me holla, honey boo-boo child!" is the first two sentences every young star in the money hungry universe should learn. Elin should honor the future of gold diggers by naming her mansion Honey Boo Boo Child.

AssStain Kutcher is barebacking his way through the cream of Iowa's whore crop, but Demi Moore is the one who's winning the rebound game by getting glitter bombed every single night. What you're looking at is not only what you get when you morph Donny Osmond, Eric McMormick and Sal from Mad Men together. This is also the gaydar-breaking beauty who is leaving a thin layer of juicy fruit nectar on Demi's lips when he blows her an air kiss after each date.

Radar is trying to say that Demi has been dating beauty mogul (FYI: beauty moguls don't only exist in soap operas and late-80s movies) Scott-Vincent Borba for about a week now. So when Demi tells her friends that Scott gave her a hot facial last night, she really means that he scrubbed her dead skin off with honeycomb bits and lavendar-scented sea salt. (Although, I wouldn't be surprised if Scott-Vincent cums honeycomb bits and lavendar-scented sea salt.) Radar's source had this to say about Demi's new "romance":

“Demi and Scott-Vincent started dating last week. They have known each other a long time and he’s really been there for her by her side through the whole Ashton thing. It’s easy for Scott-Vincent to keep his relationships a secret because he’s so often photographed hanging out with celebrity clientele. But he’s head over heels for Demi and there’s definitely potential for a lasting relationship between them.”

Getting with an immaculately groomed gaydonis whose sugar walls are sweeter than theirs didn't work for Star Jones and Liza Minnelli, but that doesn't mean it can't work for Demi. I've always believed that somewhere over the rainbow, a cougar's true soulmate awaits.

I, for one, am dripping with jealousy. Scott-Vincent's eyebrows are so exquisitely beautiful that it's a shame they don't wiggle around like a tongue, because it would be nice to get some reciprocation when you make out with them. Not only that, but Demi gets to slip into a warm dream fantasy after Scott-Vincent serenades her with this at bedtime:

In case you haven't already figured it out, that tingly sensation you're feeling down below is just your b-hole winking at this video.

Anyone that has had kids possibly knows of the joy of getting rid of a kid's pacifier... there's not a more perfect parent in the world that knows this to be TRUE FACTS more than VADGE!!!

VADGE is stiiiiiiiiiiilllllllll sucking on the pacifier known as Baby Brahim (aka Jello Pudding's new pedo-pop) despite prior reports of her dropping him off at the orphanage.

I've seen people try many a trick to discourage the pacifier ISSUE!!! However, VADGE knows how to mother the young of tomorrow and is only doing this for the GOOD OF HUMANITY!!!

My hat's off to VADGE, but more importantly to Kid-N-Stay for sticking out having to watch her beef jerky ass do hours of weight lifting, NOT 14 HOURS LIKE HEIDI, DON'T BE IRRATIONAL!

If you're an unemployed man who wears shorts outside of the tennis court and doesn't lift a hand when a lady takes off her coat, Tom Ford is sneering at you. Tom Ford looks like a well-groomed badger sniffing on a magnolia blossom when he sneers, but don't mistake it as a good thing. Tom Ford is covering you with judgement. Tom tells AnOther magazine what he thinks are 5 tips for today's refined gentleman:

1. You should put on the best version of yourself when you go out in the world because that is a show of respect to the other people around you.

2. A gentleman today has to work. People who do not work are so boring and are usually bored. You have to be passionate, you have to be engaged and you have to be contributing to the world.

3. Manners are very important and actually knowing when things are appropriate. I always open doors for women, I carry their coat, I make sure that they're walking on the inside of the street. Stand up when people arrive at and leave the dinner table.

4. Don't be pretentious or racist or sexist or judge people by their background.

5. A man should never wear shorts in the city. Flip-flops and shorts in the city are never appropriate. Shorts should only be worn on the tennis court or on the beach.

It's a good thing I only surround myself with drunk hos who don't wear coats, because they're always leaving them in coat check or the bathroom of a McDonald's. It's also a good thing I only wear Culottes and shoelace gladiator sandals when I'm in the city. I'm alright by Tom Ford. Yay.

The real truth is, though, #4 cancels most of these out. So stuff your shit into your shortest shorty shorts and twirl your lady friend on the OUTSIDE of the street. All bets are off!

Hmm. On second thought, let me rethink that title. For my 7th birthday party, my abuelita slapped my hands for kicking one of my cousins down the slide (Well, bitch wouldn't move her ass!), one of my gifts was She-Ra's Castle and I spent most of the day wondering why I didn't get all Donald Duck-ey in the voice after sucking the air out of my balloons (CHILD GENIUS ALERT: the balloons weren't blown up with helium). So that was my 7th birthday party.

Pax spent his on a boat in Paris watching St. Angie slurp on a goblet filled with warm sacrificial blood while listening to his dad yammer for hours about buildings, or some shit. Maddox and Zahara already chewed up all the Dramamine, so Pax had to go it sober. Yeah, maybe the point goes to me after all.

BUT WAIT, are those NILLA WAFERS around Pax's cake?! Okay, let me pass the point back to Pax. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Johnny Weir's arch rival Evan Lysacek (that's Licecheck if you wiggle for Weir) snatched the Ice King crown from former reigning Olympic champion Evgeni Plushenko last night. American Licecheck took gold, Russian Plushie took silver and the Japanese doll with the exquisite eyebrows known as Daisuke Takahashi took bronze. Johnny Weir took shit (aka 6th place). First, let's queef about Johnny.

To my amateur eyes, Johnny skated almost perfectly, as though he was gliding along the luscious mane of a silver unicorn. When he flailed his arms, the starts twinkled. When he landed his jumps, Lady CaCa's ass lips puckered. When the crystal enchantress of the ice twirled, Peta kicked a kitten. It was beautiful....but the judges did not co-sign this. The audience booed at his scores, and just when I was about to BOOOOO my figure skating obsessed friend (bitch even has a Torvill & Dean IM icon) checked me. According to that know-it-all bitch slut ho, even though Johnny has the gracefulness of a swan curtsying before the queen in the middle of a Spaghetti Factory (that shit is nice), his jumps just aren't as complicated as the other skaters. So the best Johnny could hope for was bronze. Way to break my boner.

As for Licecheck, while watching him masturbating his chest all over the ice, I thought to myself, "Tilda Swinton should wear that snake onesie as a gown to the Oscars. Actually, Evan should wear that onesie as a gown to the Oscars." And I bet he wears a maxi-pad on his pits, because dude sweats like Kirstie Alley when she hears the words, "We're out of donuts." Seriously, I thought the hot grease streaming out of his pores was going to melt the ice and turn that figure skating competition into a synchronized swimming competition. And Evan still would've won, because let's face it, the evil queen is good (that hurts).

Now for Plushenko! Wasn't that bitch mad?! HA! Plushie was throwing cuntfaces left and right during the medal ceremony. At one point, I thought he was going to leap towards the American flag and tear it to pieces with his bare teeth! Plushie did show his teeth backstage when he punched Evan in the crotch bone with his words. Plushie thinks he should've gotten the gold, because he did a quad and Evan did not. Plushie said, "It's not men's figure skating. Now, it's dancing."

Wow. Why haven't we been introduced, Plushie? Come sit next to me, I like the way you enunciate your cuntiness.

Marc Jacobs and his husband Lorenzo Martone are here to wish you a Happy Holigay from the fancy island of fanciness known as St. Barts. Could these two get any fancier? My ass uses a Rite-Aid plastic bag to carry my beach necessities and this ho is using a $5,000+ Birkin bag! I'd have to pass a credit check to even touch that bag! And here's Marc casually dragging it around the beach like it's the canvas tote bag you get for free when purchasing an Estee Lauder perfume gift set at Macy's.

I feel like I should lift my pinky when looking at these pictures. They are probably wearing matching canary diamond cock rings. I'm jealous.