Well Well Well
Production for the Mahalia Jackson biopic starring Fantasia was supposed to start any day now, but then a little thing called "Fanny's ovaries eating up the sperm fish of a married douche" happened and everything was pushed back. Instead of recasting the role with a more worthy talent like Quween of the Scene or Aretha Franklin's right nipple (her left one is a total cuntrod to work with), the producers are waiting for Fantasia to push out the baby and are allowing her vagina to fully recover from birth trauma before they go back into production. But Jesus be the mighty fist of one of Mahalia Jackson's cousins, dragging Fanny by the weave out of her trailer to throw her demonized soul into a circle of salt poured by the God Warrior.
Page Six reports that the estate of Mahalia Jackson is asking the producers to drop Fanny, because they feel that an unwed heathen who made a child with a married man will dirty the pristine image of a religious and noble woman like Mahalia Jackson. One source said, “The family thinks if Fantasia plays the role, it’s going to sully the name of Mahalia. They think she’s got the wrong image, having a child out of wedlock.”
The producers are also upset, because Fantasia lied to them and said that she was packing on the chunk for the role when she was really packing on baby weight. The producers are considering replacing Fanny with Missy Elliot, who is obviously the epitome of moral beacon, if she can't start shooting in January.
A rep from Mahalia Jackson's estate only said this about the biopic and Fanny:
“I’m not really aware of any objections that the heirs have to the casting of Fantasia. I understand that they were getting ready to film and that she is pregnant, and I don't know who is she pregnant by.”
Not wanting Fantasia to play Mahalia because she's growing another wedlock baby in her womb is some ridiculous shit since every single person in Hollywood has birthed out a wedlock baby. Every single one of them. I'm sure every single ho in Mahalia's family has too. Who hasn't birthed a wedlock baby? I'm birthing one right now. That is not a valid reason. A valid reason for not wanting Fantasia to play Mahalia would be because she couldn't even play Fantasia in the Fantasia biopic and was upstaged by stage barf. That is a valid reason.
Mahalia's family just needs to go to the producers and say the words: upstaged by stage barf. The next sound you'd hear is the sound of the producers getting Aretha Franklin's right nipple on the line.
Alexis Stewart has already stuffed her coin purse with wads of cash from throwing lukewarm shade at her mom Martha Stewart in that Whatever Martha radio show and now she's adding more zeros to her checking account by spilling more ESCANDALOSO (not really) secrets about her mother in a new tell-all memoir called Whateverland. One would think that living with Martha is like growing up in North Korea. Well, if North Korea had a Michael's. But it was worse!
Martha empties her piss bag with the door open! Martha lets her dogs do a poo thing all over her house! Martha made Alexis wrap her own Christmas presents! Seriously, I'm sure Christina Crawford is writing an open apology letter to Joan Crawford and thanking her not making her suffer through the kind of abuse that Alexis suffered from at the hand of Martha.
This is just some of the shit Alexis is whining about in her new book.
On how Martha was the original Tiger Mom: "Martha does everything better! You can't win! If I didn't do something perfectly, I had to do it again. I grew up with a glue gun pointed at my head."
On how Martha is a genius who put her brat daughter to work even during the holidays: "Martha was not interested in being kid-friendly. She used to make me wrap my own presents. She would hand me things right before Christmas and say, 'Now wrap these but don't look inside.'"
On how Martha is like every other mother: "My mother has a sign on all of her doors to take your shoes off. For god's sake! My mother's dogs piss and shit on her rugs and she's telling people to take their shoes off?"
On how Martha's refrigerator had bread, butter and cheese in it but not already made grilled cheese sandwiches (this is what I'm getting from this mess of a quote): "There was never anything to eat at my house. Other people had food. I had no food ... There were ingredients but no prepared food of any kind."
On how Martha peed freely: "[She] always peed with the door open. I remember saying, 'You know, now I have friends over! You can't do that anymore! It's gotta stop! My friends' parents don't do it! Give me a break here! I don’t feel like being embarrassed! It's exhausting! I'm a kid! Stop!'"
I've heard stories from people who have worked for Martha that make it sound like she's about as pleasant as fucking your pee hole with a hot glue gun, but Alexis really needs to come harder if she's going to come at all. This is nothing!
First of all, don't most abuelitas and mothers piss with the door open? How else are you going to see if the children are taking advantage of your pee situation by acting the fool? Closing the door when you pee is showing the children that you trust them which is a sign of weakness. They will use it against you! This is why they make brooms with extra-long handles. It isn't so you can clean the dust dingles from the ceiling. It's so you can beat the brats in the hallway while you piss with the door open!
Second of all, I would've loved it if my mom made me wrap my own Christmas presents. It would've saved me a lot of time and stress. I had to crawl through every closet and conduct some covert operations to find my Christmas presents. When (or if) I did find them, I had to wait for the perfect moment to drag them back to my bedroom. I'd secure the door with a chair under the knob and carefully remove the tape while trying not to tear the paper. If I got caught that present would go back. It was like trying to diffuse a bomb! My first pubic hair was a white one and I blame that on the stress caused by me trying to unwrap my Christmas gifts to see what I got. So if you ask me, Alexis had it too good.
Besides, doesn't Alexis know that her mom went to prison? You know what they do to snitches in prison. They make them sleep on 50-thread-count sheets when they come to visit their cell. The horror!
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.
Just like some of us, the First Lady stocks up on life's essentials like lube, wine cubes, Febreze and Pizza Rolls at the caviar to Walmart's gutter fish head known as Target! I'm sure your eyeballs have already graced these pictures when the Lifetime news bureau cut into the rerun of Dance Moms you were watching to bring you this highly important breaking news story, but I'm giving them to you again to show you that I still have an uncanny ability to bring you a story a day late. I've still got it!
As secret service agents in Target employee camouflage tased any bitch in the eye lids who threw a suspicious look at the First Lady, Michelle Obama strolled the aisles of a Target in Alexandria, Va for 30 minutes yesterday afternoon. The only person who recognized Michelle Obama was her cashier......and the Associated Press photographer who said he received a "tip" that she was there. (delivered in my best Pearl from 227 voice) Er herr. A tip. Is that the official code for Bo texting tips to AP photographers in exchange for Snausages?
You know, I'm not mad at Michelle Obama for joining good company by inducting herself into the Stunt Queen Hall of Fame. But I am mad at Michelle Obama for going to Target instead of Walmart. I mean, while inducting herself into the Stunt Queen Hall of Fame, she could've also joined the demure graceful flowers at the People of Walmart Hall of Fame. Missed opportunity!
Any normal celebrity couple would answer to the rumors that their marriage has been drowned in a pool of crotch nectar from the husband's side piece by issuing a simple statement that reads: "True" or "Not true" or "Your business: mind it." But Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore aren't even in the same universe as normal and have answered to the rumors by dropping philosophical balls of shit and clues on their Twitter pages. Dumi's stupid ass wrote the first chapter of The Da Douche Code when she quoted Greek philosopher Epictetus days before Star Magazine said her marriage was lying on a table in the morgue.
"When we are offended at any man’s fault, turn to yourself & study your own failings. Then you will forget your anger."
The second chapter was written by Ashton when he Tweeted a link to his Spotify account where Public Enemy's "Don't Believe The Hype" plays. A few days before Ashton's Tweet, Demi Tweeted the picture above of her doing an impression of the current catatonic state of her marriage and she added the note: "I see through you."
This is what happens when your brain gets fed with too much Oprah. It makes a bitch think she's a regular philosophical performance artist. Rumer Willis, go poke at your mama with your chin and tell her she's won. We won't complain about her desperate bathroom bikini photo shoots as long as she promises to queef the wannabe Maya Angelou act from her being.
Snooki is the epitome of wellness and health so I'm sure you were sitting there thinking that she got her new midget JWoww body from fist pumping the pounds away and sweating the fat off while trying to wrap her kooka milanese around Vinny's watermelon dick, but nope! The Daily Mail points to Snooki's Twitter page where yesterday she admitted that along with the cocktail of meds the CDC makes her swallow with a giant glass of pickle water, she also eats a diet pill called Zantrex. This makes sense since Snooki has what I like to call diet pill face, which is meth face's first cousin. The skinniest Ewok on Endor said this on Twitter:
Glad to hear reports that say I look good =) but it's not because of HCG! Thanks @Zantrex!
One of my followers asked if I was a paid spokesperson for zantrex…yes haven’t you seen the ads in Star?
The DM says that eating Zantrex might give you the these fun side-effects: palpitations, anxiety, cold sweats, nausea, diarrhea, increased heart rate and irritability.
That's funny. Those are the some side-effects a trick gets after eating Snooki.
I took diet pills once and the only thing it did for me was show me what a day in the life of an incontinent tweaker is like. When I wasn't shaking, I was shaking the shit out. It was a mess. The inside of my toilet looked like a Jackson Pollock (Jackson Poollock?) painting. I didn't lose a pound, but I did lose 48 hours of sleep and whatever feeling I had left my no-no so it was a non-stop party. If that's Snooki's idea of a good time, then I say shake and shit your way to thinness, bitch.
And since Snooki is in a dieting mood, she needs to purge the expired bronzer and lipstick (in shade: "slug shit") from her make-up box. Unless she wants to look like Mr. Hankey in drag as Aunt Magda.
Patti Stanger, The Millionaire Matchmaker who has a success rate of zero, set b-holes on fire and earned a temporary place on GLAAD's hit list on Sunday night when she opened up her dumb dumpster box of a mouth and said that gays can't stick with one peen, all Jewish men lie and nobody wants to roll around with a queen.
This was not breaking news to those who know that Patti has been terrorizing the straight people and curly-haired communities for years with the ridiculous Tsunami of wet shit that pours off of her rat tongue all the time. But after some called for Patti to be thrown into Bravo's trash pile with Showdog Mom & Dads (Never 4Get), Patti quickly Twatted out an "I'm Sowwy" note. Patti then brought her guinea pig in a wig-looking ass to Joy Behar's show and clarified that she wasn't talking about ALL GAYS, she was only talking about L.A. gays! Patti dipped the generalizations she made on Watch What Happens Live in concrete when she said this to Joy Behar (as transcribed by Towleroad):
"In the show when we do the mixers, the guys are passing around the telephone numbers, they're sleeping with each other, even affter the millionaire gets the date he's sleeping with the pool of people. My (gay) friend...says 'Patti this is what it's like around the country.' This is the gay community. I said, 'I'm trying to curb them.' Now this is not the lesbian. The lesbian gets involved. They move in together. They're quiet. They're at peace. But the gay men. They whip it out at eyelock. They get involved, and then they find out later whether or not they want a serious relationship. And I hope they use the privilege in New York of gay marriage, because now they have it. And a lot of gays aren't getting married, even though they have the privilege."
Patti then said that she's like the Norma Rae of gay marriage and has been an advocate since the beginning of gay time. Patti's right. She once took a break from her busy schedule of yelling at The Hot Topic Twins to pose in a Lee Press-On campaign sponsored by NOH8.
But we're all missing the bigger point here: who in the hell takes Patti Stanger seriously? The only reason why I watched The Millionaire Matchmaker is because I love love love how wrong she is about everything. There should be a disclaimer at the beginning that reads: Whatever Patti Says To Do, Do The Opposite.
How can you seriously take the advice of a mutated ostrich egg who tells you to keep your chonies on during the first date? That makes no sense. If I don't fuck a trick on the first date, how do I know if I want to fuck them on the second date? Answer that, Patti!
And as a gay whose best slut moments were lived out in the L.A. area, I have no comment on her "all L.A. gays are sluts" comment.
Kyle Massey, the Webster on growth hormones who did Dancing with the Stars with Bristol Palin, is telling people that he thinks her bitch battle royale fight at Saddle Ranch with the dude who called her mother a whore was about as natural and organic as the parts that were glued onto her new face. Kyle and his brother co-star in Bristol's reality shit show called "SEE! I'm Not Racist!" and sources tell TMZ that he thinks the producers planted the Stephen Hanks, the Palin hater, at the bar to do something no reality show does: inject fakeness into it for maximum dramatic effect.
Both Stephen Hanks and the producers are denying the fight was staged, but Kyle doesn't believe them, because he says it's a little strange that there were so many cameras at the bar. But Kyle says that Bristol has been nothing but genuine with him so he doesn't think she was in on the fakery. Kyle Massey is also scrubbing the dirt off of his precious Son of Disney skin every night, because what he thought was going to be a good clean scripted show turned out to be a sleazy reality show.
Kyle's daddy George Papadopoulos better spank a clue into him if he actually thought that he was starring in a scripted show with a trick who has the acting skills of a broken urinal lying in the back alley of the Saddle Ranch. In Bristol's acting debut she made a wooden door look like a living thing that feels human emotions, so who is going to give her an acting job? And Sarah Palin casting Bristol in the role of "Trig's sister instead of his mother" doesn't count!!! (Yes, I've been reading Days of Our Palins again).
It doesn't matter if that stupid fight was staged (it was) or not, because even if Bristol's shit show opening featured Marcus Bachmann tipping his spout at a T-dance, bitches still won't watch this mess.
And real or not, Stephen Hanks still owes us whores an apology, because what did we ever do to him?
Somewhere in the Crenshaw section of Los Angeles is a parked white van stocked to the top with technicolor wigs that have seen sparklier (in sad times like these, it is okay to make up words) days and dusty coats that look like they were cut from a Fraggle's ass. The white van belongs to the legendary Sly Stone whose license plate is his official home address, because he smoked up most of his money and lost the rest to shady vultures. It is a tragic day in society when pieces of trash like Lindsay Lohan are sitting front row at fashion shows and icons like Sly Stone have to shit in a plastic red cup behind an alleyway dumpster. Although, LiLo probably regularly shits in plastic red cups behind alleyway dumpsters, but that isn't the point!
The New York Post tracked 68-year-old Sly down and interviewed him about how he went from living in mansions to sleeping in a camper parked outside of a house in Crenshaw. Just a few years ago, Sly was living in a rented house in the Napa Valley, but his life turned down Matt Foley Way when he says the royalty checks stopped coming in the mail after his manager tricked him into signing over control of all of his finances. Sly sued his manager for $50 million but that lawsuit hasn't gone anywhere yet. Sly doesn't own any of the music publishing rights to his own songs because he sold that shit to Michael Jackson for a measly $1 million in 1984. Sly also blames his addiction to the bad shit for why he's broke and homeless.
But just because Sly is down and out in Crenshaw doesn't mean he's wishing he could go back to the days of mortgage payments and pissing in his own toilet. Sly says that he doesn't want to be tied down and his soul is happiest when he's traveling around. Sly made friends with a couple in Crenshaw who lets them shower in their house. Their son also drives Sly around L.A. and works as his assistant.
Sly still makes music on his laptop and hopes that a bitch will give him a job soon, “But now please tell everybody, please, to give me a job, play my music. I’m tired of all this shit, man.”
And the hobo paranoias have hit Sly, because he believes the FBI is following him and his rivals are trying to murder him. Lord. As soon as a ho becomes homeless, their brain automatically unlocks the "FBI IS TRYING TO KILL MY LIFE" thought. It's not right.
Yes, I know Sly's mind is off smoking star dust on one of Saturn's rings, but it's a shame that it's come to this. Can't the producers of Dancing with the Stars replace that useless Kardashian with Sly Stone? Can't we excommunicate Ke$hit from society and give her tour dates to Sly Stone? Can't we send Sly up to Canada so he can join The Quaids' Anti-Star Whackers Gang and they can fight the crazy fight together? One of those things needs to happen. Because how can any of us take it higher while listening to Sly's old songs when he's sleeping on a pile of his old wigs in the back of a van?
One of the world's greatest modern mysteries behind "What is that shit Taco Bell puts between a taco shell?" will not be answered today. January Jones is not unmasking the face of the dude who owned the sperm fish that took a chisel to the frozen shell that surrounds her icy ovary egg and pushed itself in. TMZ says that the birth certificate of her son, Xander Dane Jones, is completely blank on the spot where the daddy's name goes. Basically, January pretty much wrote: "If I did know, I still wouldn't tell you prying cunts."
The names Matthew Vaughn, Bobby Flay, Xander Berkley and Jason Sudeikis have all been thrown around as possibilities for the dude who will answer his door in 18 years to find a half ice cube, half human asking him, "Are you my daddy?" But I hope January keeps her face lips shut about this shit. January's heart is as frozen as a lima bean bag left in a hoarder's freezer and she's the kind of cunt that gives Heather Mills an inferiority complex, so this little bit of daddy mystery only makes me love her ice cold ass even more.
But we all know why January is really keeping the identity of her baby's father a secret from the public. January lets out a bitchified smile every time she thinks of Maury Povich waking up in the middle of the night with the cold sweats because he knows he will never ever live to see the day where he gets to publicly tell the true dad of January's baby that he IS the father.
January: 1, Maury: ziiiiilch