I'm not Jewish, but I think I'm going to join the Yom Kippur fast today, because my taste buds deserve the day off after all of my senses were affected while thinking about the kinds of fondue the Twihards made their in their chonies after reading this story at UsWeekly. How will I ever enjoy a meal at The Melting Pot every again?!
UsWeekly says that Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson are totally back together in every way including sharing bathroom counter space, which they hardly ever use since they never brush their teefs and wash their faces. Who knows if they're living together in the Los Feliz house RPattz put up for sale or the Malibu house KStew recently bought, but they're living together again somewhere. If you need to read this news directly from the unnamed source's unidentified mouth instead, here you go:
"They are living together and have reconciled."
There's one pro and one con about this highly important CNN-worthy news. The pro is that RPattz can finally throw away the silicone mold of KStew's pit he had made. Now RPattz can wake up, stare into and make out with the real thing. For RPattz, the best part of waking up is pit stew in his cup. The con is that RPattz has put Bear Pattinson-Stewart in charge of giving KStew the "Smell Yo Cooch" test every night to make sure her box doesn't reek of movie director saliva. Poor Bear Pattinson-Stewart wishes his parents stayed split.
Here's KStew at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris today looking like a teenage hustler who uses his shirt as a pizza napkin and cum rag. KStew is in Paris to join the other miserable hungry-faced fashion people at the Balenciaga show tomorrow.
The parents of hardcore Twihards can finally tell their children's pediatrician to take them out of the induced coma they begged to be put in so they didn't have to deal with the heartache of knowing that RPattz is no longer painting KStew's eyelids with his sparkly peen cream. (That's what on her eyelids, right?) Both People and UsWeekly say that Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart reunited this past weekend in L.A. after two months of not seeing each other's faces in person. Flood warnings have just been issued in Britain, because as soon as Nutty Madam reads about this, tapioca panty pudding will fill the streets. Put on your Wellies!
One source told People that they're probably going to get back together and some other source told UsWeekly that their reunion was really dramatic. I'm sure it was REALLY dramatic. It was as dramatic as watching an overcooked penne noodle have "TAKE ME BACK" sex with a plastic bottle full of body glitter. No, I'm sure it happened like this: KStew knocked on RPattz's door, asked him, "So dude, do you want to, like, be boyfriend and girlfriend again, or whatever?" and when he shook his head yes, she lifted up her arm and his mouth had make-up sex with her queso-covered pit. I should totally stretch out that run-on sentence into a full-fledged fan fiction series and call it 50 Shades of Kristen Stewart's Pit Queso.
The heart wants what the heart wants and what I mean by that is the marketing team at Summit Entertainment wants what the marketing team at Summit Entertainment wants.
Kristen Stewart is the face of a perfume (that surprisingly isn't made by Hazmat or RAID), has been on the cover of dozens of fashion magazines, made millions of dollars from being the fifth layer of crust on the cultural loogie called Twilight, but yet there's one thing she won't collect a check for and that's a make-up campaign. Every time Kristen Stewart opens her mouth, either Rupert Sanders' tongue goes in or a stream of wet stupid shit comes falling out. This time, KStew spewed up the stupid to Germany's Glamour magazine (via CM & TI) when they asked her about leasing her face out to Balenciega's fragrance. KStew said that she didn't sign her face over to Balenciega because they waved the biggest stack of money at her, she's with them because the brand spoke to her:
"Balenciaga has always stood out to me. Even when I first began to consider fashion and admittedly rarely knew the brand I was wearing, I always knew and loved Balenciaga. It feels full circle to be involved with something that spoke to me then and of course continues to excite me now. The brand is just cool. That's the way it is."
Dear the brand of Balenciaga, the next time you speak to KStew, tell her to bite on a stick of cállate.
And then KStew said something that will make every make-up artist that works on her face scribble "STFU TWAT" on her forehead with a permanent marker:
"I would never work with people who aren't really creative and aren't committed to what they do. Unfortunately, there are a lot of those people out there, they are fucking everywhere, and they try to suck the soul out of you. For example, I would never do a make-up campaign, even though the [final] photos with me would probably look good. Thank you, but it doesn't interest me."
Most of us graduate from that "I'm unique! I'm special! I listen to Morrissey so I know things!" phase when we leave the 7th grade, but KStew refuses to do this. Bitch, you're in Twilight!
KStew never has to worry about someone sucking her soul, because you need a soul in order for a ho to suck it out of you. Trying to suck out KStew's soul is like trying to suck off Shia LaBeouf. There's nothing there to fill your mouth and you just walk away feeling gross on the inside. I'm pretty sure KStew also doesn't have to worry about someone asking her to do a make-up campaign. Unless Phaedra Parks is looking for a walking corpse to be the face of her own brand of mortician's wax, I doubt KStew is going to get a makeup campaign anytime soon.
(Thanks, Cindy Loo Who)
Because the Fall of Robsten conspiracies are the new 9/11 conspiracies, Jenni Maier at Mashable burped up this hilariously ridiculous video as proof that Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson, Rupert Sanders and Liberty Ross all manufactured the escandalosoness to bump up their careers. Nobody knew who Liberty Ross was before her husband munched on KStew's box in a Mini Cooper, but now she's suddenly walking the Alexander Wang show at NYFW. Nobody really knew who Rupert Sanders was and now everybody including my mom (who barely knows my first name and sometimes calls me by her cat's name on accident) knows his name. Both RPattz and KStew had non-Twilight movies to promote, so it all makes sense! Well, it makes sense after you smoke a couple of bowls and freebase the Twihard juice. You don't want to know what Twihard juice is. It's not so much juice as it is cream. I'll stop.
Jenni at Mashable asked the second thing I asked after watching this video. The first thing I asked myself was, "Why am I watching this video? Wouldn't straightening then crimping my pubes be a better use of my time?" The second thing I asked myself was, "If they were all in it together, why would they need to doctor the pictures? Couldn't KStew just pose in them herself?" Jenni straightened her tin foil visor and answered that question poking at my brain:
According to this video, Rupert Sanders helped stage these photos with the help of an anonymous women. Clever editing shows that the notorious photos featured in Us Weekly don’t match up to photos of the real location. There are all kinds of scale issues with Rupert Sanders and Kristen Stewart’s height — and it’s easy to get caught up in what this video’s trying to imply.
But what doesn’t make sense to me is why would they fake the photos? That seems like an incredibly immense undertaking that would bring this conspiracy to a whole new level. Not only does it mean Rupert Sanders (and his anonymous henchmen) framed Kristen Stewart, but also that they had a reason to do so.
Not to mention that Kristen Stewart apologized for these photos within 24 hours of the news breaking – and hours before the issue of Us Weekly even hit newstands. So why would she apologize for something so devastating that she hadn’t done so quickly. Wouldn’t this be the kind of issue that would cause marketing teams to come up with an elaborate PR strategy to deflect negative attention from Kristen? A strategy that would probably take an entire day (at the very least) to create.
Commenters allude to the fact that blackmail could be involved and that could be the reason she apologized so quickly.
BLACKMAIL?! Any conspiracy theory that involves BLACKMAIL is my kind of conspiracy theory. That's some Alexis Carrington shit right there. But in order to believe any of these conspiracy theories, we also have to believe that Kristen Stewart isn't six layers of boring who is only capable of drooling on herself, biting at her lip, blinking and making mouth love to a fully loaded bong. Once I see a detailed video disproving that theory, I'll consider believing the other theories.
For now, the only thing this video proves is that when you mix together a Twihard, the music of Jet, Google Street View and an all-night meth binge, fucked up things happen.
Lainey at Lainey Gossip is hearing that Kristen Stewart hasn't yet drawn an X on her relationship contract with Robert Pattinson using jizz from Rupert Sanders' wandering peen. Robsten is unbroken (a nerve in my no-no lips loses its feeling whenever I type that) for now, but Radar says that didn't stop KStew from flirting with James Franco at a TIFF party in Toronto over the weekend.
Since James Franco considers himself the be all and end all of the art world and Kristen Stewart looks like Dora Maar as painted by Picasso, he went after her at a party and tried to get her to stop biting her lip to bite his lip instead (you decide which one). The source said this:
“Kristen and James bumped into each other at the Intercontinental Hotel in Toronto during the film festival and were engaged in conversation for 20 minutes. There was a lot of flirting and Kristen was overjoyed by the attention she was getting from James, who was gushing over her, saying what a great actress he thinks she is and was full of praise for her latest movie, On the Road. She seemed at ease in his company, and he was certainly making her laugh. She was wearing a huge grin on her face. At the end of their chance meeting, James took Kristen’s number and asked her out for dinner. Kristen initially said no, but is mulling over the idea.”
We can all say that if KStew and Franco got together for real, we'd all sprain our optic nerves from rolling our eyeballs so much, but these two actually make sense. James Franco can spend his nights with Kristen Stewart talking about James Franco and how James Franco is redefining creativity and if James Franco displayed a puff of his pubic hair at The Whitney thousands of people would wait hours to see it and James Franco this and James Franco that... KStew would sit there, smiling and giggling, and he'd think it was because of all the genius thoughts coming out of his mouth. But no, KStew is only giggling and smiling because she's stoned out of her mind and thinks that with every sneaky queef she lets out, she's secretly getting everyone in the room higher.
James Franco can talk about himself and only himself, and KStew can get high without having to talk at all. They're perfect for each other! (And yes, I've sat in a room and thought I was getting everyone in the room higher with my farts.)
"Don't fucking touch me, dude!" is what the paps say fell out of Kristen Stewart's mouth this morning when a bodyguard tried to help her walk through the crowd at Pearson International Airport in Toronto. It warms the core of my cunt gene knowing that supposedly spending weeks Emo-ing into her bong over shitting on RPattz's sparkly heart hasn't changed her miserable bitch ways.
KStew wore RPattz's dirty hat on her head AGAIN and this means that either: a) The prop master of the staged production known as her fake relationship with RPattz hasn't collected it yet or; b) KStew wants the dried unicorn sweat from RPattz's enchanted forest hair on top of her head as much as possible; or c) That actually isn't RPattz's hat. KStew stole that hat from a hobo she bitched out after he looked at her funny. Shifty hobos and RPattz do have the exact same fashion sense.
While promoting On The Road at TIFF yesterday, The Associated Press asked KStew if it's going to be awkward promoting the last Twatlight movie in November with RPattz and she only said, "We're going to be fine. We're totally fine."
Some of the crazed Twihards on Twitter think that means ROBSTEN IS UNBROKEN and real, authentic true love isn't dead, so they don't have to spend the rest of their nights bawling into the pile of dead cats they didn't take care of, because they're too torn apart to leave the house to buy cat food. But to me this just means that Robsten's contract has expired and at the premiere of Twatlight in November, they're both going to behave themselves and won't scrap over that hat while Bear Pattinson cheers RPattz on.
Why don't you let that headline marinate deep within the crevices of your brain before we really get into it. By that I mean, keep a cup of bleach nearby, because you will want to cleanse the sucio thoughts from your brain by pouring Clorox directly into your ear before shaking your head around. I think the exact medical term is called brain gargling.
I see Kristen Stewart wiped off the scarlet A (short for A Sparkle-Hating Slut Whore Skank Harlot Slow-Faced Puta Trampire) the crazed Twihards scribbled on her forehead when she was passed out in a weed-induced coma of woe. KStew's handlers flea dipped her, shoved her into a dress and told her to put on a damage control smile before they pushed her out onto the
red carpet brick pathway to pose with Kiki Dunst and Garrett Hedlund at the TIFF premiere of On The Road. I know, you almost didn't recognize KStew without Rupert Sanders' face all up in her box. KStew rarely ever uses the lazy muscles in her face to crack a smile and now I know why. Because when ho smiles, she looks like she's about to save Esmerelda from Frollo.
And wrap your fingers around a cup of bleach, because we're getting into the fuckery behind that headline now. British Vogue's Christa D'Souza interviewed KStew (click here for scans of that mess of an interview) a month before the pictures of her farting into Rupert's crotch came out. A week after the interview, Christa ran into KStew at some event and had to keep the laughs from pouring out of her nostrils when KStew drooled out this line (via ONTD & iSubscribe):
"My God, I'm so in love with my boyfriend. I wish he were here now. I think I want to have his babies. I love the way he smells. And him me. Like, he loves to lick under my armpits."
Either bitch was stoned as hell or she's being sarcastic or a little of both. Whatever the case may be, I still didn't need the image of a dude slurping up KStew's pit syrup. Since KStew barely spends time in a shower, you know licking her pits is like munching on a hobo's musty ass in the middle of a wet sauna. Like giving head to a wet fart. Just several layers of sweaty NO all on your tongue. I just want to rub a deodorant stick all over that quote to get the stank out. So fuck KStew for giving me that image, because I really didn't need that today.
But since KStew had to go there, she needs to specify which boyfriend she was talking about. Because I need to know if RPattz's new nickname is Pit Licker Pattinson or is Rupert Sanders' new nickname Rupit Licker? Please clarify, you dirty bitch!
If Kristen Stewart always had a red shirt-wearing, middle finger-throwing pap hater by her side at all times, the paparazzi would've never gotten pictures of her rubbing her butt cakes against a married man's crotch. Learn from Jennifer Lawrence, KStew!
If you're a skeezy married director who thinks that every white girl star of a major franchise will happily let you munch on her box in a Mini Cooper, think again. In an extremely accurate and totally truthful report from Radar, a source says that Jennifer Lawrence is telling her friends that she would never ever pull a heartless slut move by cheating on her boyfriend (aka that little kid from About A Boy). Yes, Katniss lifted her nose and looked down at that sparkle betrayer Bella as she said this to her friends:
“Jennifer has a healthy rivalry with Kristen, but she thinks that the cheating scandal she got caught up in could have been avoided. Recently, although she didn’t say Kristen’s name directly, she couldn’t resist having a subtle dig at her rival. She told a group of friends that she would never two-time Nicholas. Jennifer then went on to say that she has received attention from many older men, especially powerful movie directors in the past, and would never want to jeopardize her career by getting involved with a married man. She was clearly referring to Kristen’s liaison with Rupert."
You should never ever say "I'd never ever." You don't know what can happen.
What if Jennifer Lawrence lost everything just as civilization is almost destroyed by an unknown apocalyptic event (example: like Sarah Palin winning presidency in 2016). What if the rich overtook the poors, dissolved all the states and set up districts. What if every year, the richies kept us poors in check by making us fight it out to the death in some reality show. What if Jennifer Lawrence is picked for that reality show of death and aligns herself with a dude who has vowed to help her win the game. What if some science lab-made mosquito bit her ally in the crotch and the only way to get the venom out and save him from death is to suck it out through his peen. Technically, sucking on a peen is cheating, so is Jennifer Lawrence not going to do it? Is she going to say, "I would never EVER cheat on my boyfriend even if it means that civilization will eventually die a slow, terrible death because I didn't." Jennifer Lawrence is really going to let down an entire people?! Ugh, we're doomed and all because that goody goody won't suck the poison out of a dick that doesn't belong to her boyfriend.
And vampires don't even eat food!
Jon Stewart started a food giveaway trend on Monday night when he gave Robert Pattinson a pint of Ben & Jerry's to try break the awkward ice. George Stethoscope-olous tried to do the same thing on Good Whoring America today by giving RPattz a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch (more like Cinnamon Toast BARF!) and it really didn't work out as well. Just like Jon Stewart, George didn't bring up Kirsten Stewart's name, but he did tip toe around the subject and it became clear that RPattz would rather shampoo his hair than talk about personal shit. George and RPattz's awkward intro about "you know what" went like this:
George: Your performance in Cosmopolis blah blah blah and I want to get to it, but I know you know this, I gotta get the elephant in the room out of the way. Everybody just wants to know, how are you doing and what do you want your fans to know about what's going on? In your personal life?
RPattz: I mean, you know... They seem pretty excited about kind of whatever. I'd like my fans to know that Cinnamon Toast Crunch only has 30 calories a bowl in it, for instance. Pretty much everything that comes out of my mouth is irrelevant.
Yeah, that went well. I love how talking to RPattz has turned every talk show host, journalist, reporter, whatever into his mom and they're afraid of cracking his precious snowflake skin. I kept waiting for George to say shit like, "Are you sure you're okay? Have you been pooping regularly? That might help. Do you want a grilled cheese? I'll cut the edges off. How about a warm compress for your tummy? A lavender bath? You know you'll always be my beautiful angel, right?"
I mean, is it that serious? Just get it over with and shout at him, "Do you hate the tramp or it this just the STUNT QUEEN stunt of all STUNT QUEEN stunts?" This is just getting out of hand. There are children starving and we're giving all of our food to RPattz! He better start his own food bank.
Here's RPattz strolling around NYC last night and you can't tell from these pictures, but even the starving homeless people are throwing cakes and cookies at him.
Jodie Foster is sort of like the unofficial Captain Save-A-Ho of Hollywood, because she seems to always come to the defense of floundering hos everyone is shitting on. Jodie defended Mel Gibson's shitty ass when everyone hated on him for being an anti-Semitic, blow job-needing ass boil marinating in dirty jacuzzi water. And now Jodie is pulling out her shank and defending Kristen Stewart who starred with her in The Panic Room.
In Jodie Foster's piece for The Daily Beast, she starts off by writing that if she was a young actress today, she would've immediately checked out of the Hollywood game to keep the media from knocking pussies out of her mouth with their cameras. I put it much more eloquently than Jodie did, but that's basically what she said. Jodie says that the media lifts up young celebrities only to later tear them down and punch their souls into dust. Jodie goes on to write that she met a 10-year-old Kristen Stewart on the set of The Panic Room and grew to love her. Jodie once told Kristen Stewart's mom to try to talk her out of doing the acting thing, but her mom said that it's what she wanted.
Jodie then writes some ultra dramatic shit about how KStew was probably an innocent white-haired child who freely danced around at the beach and now she's a hard shell of bad bitch who is constantly getting attacked by the paparazzi. In other words, Jodie's been hitting the bong KStew got her for her birthday:
There’s this image I have of a perfect moment. It comes to me as a square format 8mm home movie with ’70s oversaturated reds and blues, no sound, just a scratchy loop … there’s a little white-haired girl twirling in the surf. She’s singing at the top of her lungs, jumping and spinning around in the cold water, all salty, sandy, full of joy and confidence. She’s unconscious of the camera, of course, in her own world. The camera shakes a little. Perhaps her mom’s laughing behind the lens. Could a child be more loved than in this moment? She’s perfect. She is absolutely perfect.
Cut to: Today … A beautiful young woman strides down the sidewalk alone, head down, hands drawn into fists. She’s walking fast, darting around huge men with black cameras thrusting at her mouth and chest. “Kristen, how do you feel?” “Smile Kris!” “Hey, hey, did you get her?” “I got her. I got her!” The young woman doesn’t cry. Fuck no. She doesn’t look up. She’s learned. She keeps her head down, her shades on, fists in her pockets. Don’t speak. Don’t look. Don’t cry.
My mother had a saying that she doled out after every small injustice, every heartbreak, every moment of abject suffering. “This too shall pass.” God, I hated that phrase. It always seemed so banal and out of touch, like she was telling me my pain was irrelevant. Now it just seems quaint, but oddly true … Eventually this all passes. The public horrors of today eventually blow away. And, yes, you are changed by the awful wake of reckoning they leave behind. You trust less. You calculate your steps. You survive. Hopefully in the process you don’t lose your ability to throw your arms in the air again and spin in wild abandon. That is the ultimate F.U. and—finally—the most beautiful survival tool of all. Don’t let them take that away from you.
THE DRAMA! Get a grip, Jodie.
Jodie's piece is really well-written and you can get it all here if you want it, but what she basically says is that the media sucks, hos need to chill, Kristen Stewart's life is hard, the beach is fun and everyone should respect the "privacy please" sign hanging on a famous actor's front door. I get it. But Jodie forget to write a little open note to KStew: the next time you want a married dude to lick your punane, take it inside. Now those are words to live by.
And some of you probably didn't even read any of the words above, because you're still getting over the fact that it was Kristen Stewart in The Panic Room and not one of the Culkin boys.