Panty Creamer of the Day
But my Photoshop does not want to play nice. It keeps crashing and I have a sneaking suspicion it's because it doesn't want to break royal protocol by taking an active role in all the foolish things I'm going to do this picture. When Prince Hot Ginge opens his mouth wide to scream "MOVE YOUR BLOOMIN' ASS" at a derby, my Photshop's hands go up while mine go down. The Queen knows what I'm talking about and she wish she didn't. I will go to TJ Maxx today and find a pocketbook that looks just like The Queen's. Then I will smack myself with said pocketbook as punishment.
PHG joined Prince William, Duchess Kate, Princess Eugenie, Princess Bea, The Queen and this slut at the Epsom Derby today. The Queen's horse technically came in third place, but after she ordered first place and second place to the glue factory, it was given the top prize. But I feel like I won the top prize thanks to all these pictures of PHG making pre, during and post orgasm faces. Prince William's top hat also gets a prize for taking his hotness levels up a few notches by hiding the dried crabgrass garden on his head.
Bradley Cooper's wide eyes tell me that he will snort the last line at a party without guilt and he looks like the type who won't even use his hand to wipe the sweat bead that dropped from his forehead onto yours when he's hitting it from the front. So naturally, I can understand why some hos swoon until they cream over him. If your ass falls under that category, then you better get your body ready and apologize to your panties in advance, because here he is speaking French like a Rosetta Stone valedictorian.
B.Coop is definitely fancy in more ways than one. He could be talking about turtles snow-balling each other and I wouldn't even know. I have no idea what he's saying, but it doesn't matter a damn. Just put your nipples to the monitor and take it in.
It's good to know that B.Coop will know what you're talking about when you say to him, "Sacrebleume!"
With a thin layer of bald head balm SPF slathered on his head, Jude Law proved that he's the anti-Travolta by going toupee-free in Cannes yesterday afternoon. Jude is wig-free and loving it! I don't blame the former hair citizens on Jude's head, though. Would you rather be sitting on Jude's head or would you rather uproot and mosey down south to sit next to his lucky penny areolas? Exactly.
Besides, that little powder puff of hair on top of his head is sort of cute. Some might see it as a ball of sad without any friends. Not Me. I see it as an afro wig for a giant's clitoris. And who doesn't love clit wigs?
No, this is not another post about Adult Babies. This is Larry the Cable Guy undressed as The Naked Cow (pause) Boy with The Naked Cowboy in Times Square today. Yes, I could've used my bandwidth and hard drive space on posting those (NSFW) pictures of Kate Middleton's Gaydar-breaking brother James in various states of almost nekkid, but those pictures won't make you lactate curdled milk or leave a film of something mysterious on the roof of your mouth like these will!
I'll leave you all alone now so you can ride through a grassy field and shoot your rifles in the air while screaming "USA! USA!" (that's a euphemism for you to figure out).
It must be off-season for eleventy-time Olympic gold medalist Michael Phelps, because he has put down the waxing strips and is letting his face grow a field of fuzz usually seen on a beaver's ass. Not to mention that his chest is almost as randomly hairy as the top of John Travolta's natural head (that little comparison was just the ass twitch John Travolta needed today).
Chico's adopted son was at the Encore Beach Club in Las Vegas yesterday to kick off their "Not Hot Chicks with Douchebags" pool party. Yes, because standing in a pool filled with chlorine, douchebag piss and pubes of all colors is definitely a party! I'm not being sarcastic.
You're probably already pinching at your eyeballs with your longest nails, so you know this is already a product of real life. There's a few bonuses too! Mickey Rourke eating! Mickey Rourke getting oral with a bottle! Mickey Rourke getting oral with a fag! AND Mickey Rourke's face is looking as fresh as La Bruja's after a battery acid peel at SpeeDee Oil. Don't you just want to slather his face with tomato sauce and sprinkle a little Parmesan on his cheeks before nibbling? Since he's wearing Spandex, you've got something silky to sit on too.
Unfortunately, Mickey kept his bulge to himself but that gives you something to look forward to (so keep your eyeball-pinching nails razor sharp)!
Let's not focus on the fact that Rob Lowe's hair is giving me flashes of Justin Bieber's sophomore mop. Let's redirect on our energy on the fact that it's been a while since we've seen Rob Lowe's nipples and barely there patch of chest fur in a magazine. So take off your pants and get your horny out like it's the night before the Democratic National Convention. But Rob isn't only on the cover of Vanity Fair so that you can get reacquainted with his happy trail and bust out a reunited scoot on this picture. Ro Blow is also peddling an autobiography called "Stories I Only Tell My Friends." Rob read a few passages for VF's podcast and included a couple of stories about shooting The Outsiders with Tom Cruise and Charlie Sheen. And guess what? Our Tommy Girl was always as methodical as a serial killing robot with OCD. From Vanity Fair:
During the first round of auditions in Los Angeles, Lowe writes of meeting Tom Cruise, then a houseguest of the Sheens: “He’s open, friendly, funny, and has an almost robotic, bloodless focus and an intensity that I’ve never encountered before.” In New York for the second round of auditions, Lowe finds that Cruise is “already showing traits that will make him famous; he’s zeroed in like a laser.” “We check into the Plaza Hotel. I am taken aback at the luxury and spectacle of the lobby…. The front desk tells us we will be sharing rooms,” Lowe writes of the actors’ arrival in the Big Apple. “In a flash, Cruise is on the phone to his agent, Paula Wagner. ‘Paula, they are making us share,’ he says…. The rest of us are staggering around like happy goofs….. ‘O.K., then. Thank you very much,’ he says like a 50-year-old businessman getting off the phone with his stockbroker. ‘Paula says it’s fine.’ ”
Lowe remembers hanging out with Cruise and the other actors in a gymnasium on set, when Patrick Swayze—who, Lowe writes, “makes Tom Cruise look lobotomized”—“begins to teach us a standing backflip…. When it comes to flips, I’m a pussy. I don’t flip. I don’t even dive into a pool—straight cannonball for me…. No, thanks. Cruise, not surprisingly, is all over it. ‘How about this!’ he says, almost pulling it off without even being spotted. He wipes out, but tries it again immediately.”
Tommy is even careful about how he spends his ass orgasms!!! Tommy called up Paula to make sure that he was in fact sharing a fancy hotel room with a bunch of hot pieces of man meat. Once Paula confirmed this by transmitting an updated patch into his hard-drive through the phone lines, Tommy then allowed himself to bust a butt nut in his Underoos.
Now that we've gotten that TG tidbit out of the way, you can go back to gazing into Rob Lowe's nips. No one is looking so go ahead and brush Rob's pixel nips with your eyelashes. If someone does catch you, just tell them that you're using your God given natural dusters to dust your monitor.
Connor Cruise is really wishing that the Scientology gift shop sold super absorbent pads to slip under thetan-resistant g-strings, because he knows that his nose will be stuck to the AC vent on the SUV ride home now that Tommy Girl locked eyes and awkwardly touched hands Becks at the Lakers game in L.A. yesterday. As David Beckham's vocal cords whistled out tales of Posh's pregnancy cravings for ice cream fumes and diluted pickle water, Tommy Girl's Scientolohole blew out massive amounts of prostate pudding while thinking about how he'd like to audit Becks' nipples with his tongue. And Connor isn't the only one who wished that he had a mute button for his senses....
Poor Suri probably didn't get a wink of beauty sleep last night. Tommy Girl skipped into his boudoir, flopped on his canopy bed and sang out "I Could've Creamed All Night" while his man slaves dressed him in an assless onesie for bedtime. Hopefully, Suri punished Tommy by "accidentally" dropping her open barley water bottle on the hand that Becks touched. The hand that Tommy swore he would only wash in Becks' saliva. If you hear a high-pitched "WHY?!!!!" shooting out of Tommy's dungeon this morning, you know it's not coming from Katie Holmes for a change.
Julia Roberts isn't the only one who can successfully pair lipstick with an armpit full of fur pie! James Franco can play that game too and HOW! On the cover of Vogue Hommes International, James' lips say "Princess Leia" but his pits scream "Chewbacca." Don't act like you wouldn't fuck your nostrils with his hairy arm stems. Or at least prune a piece off, stick it in your bong and smoke it up since you know it can easily double as the good shit. Weed pits, James Franco's got 'em.
And here's a few more pictures of Franco posing like a male hustler in the back pages of the Village Voice circa 1989. My favorite has to be the one of him washing the crushed tomatoes and boo saliva off of his Oscar tux.
Millions of Milkshakes and John Travolta's Scientolohole aren't the only places for a ho to drop a load of cream in for a dollar. Carrot (Versatile) Top presented his new Carrot Top Sundae at the Hard Rock Cafe in Las Vegas last night. Part of the proceeds will be donated to Carrot Top's cousin Ronald McDonald and his house for children. I've got a strong stomach and no standards to speak of, but I wouldn't even sniff on Carrot Top's cup of sweet cream. That looks like it came from a place I don't want to know about.
It was probably made with roid pimples, the essence of Jackie Stallone, carrot skin pureed by a garbage disposal, bronzer crust, a clown's kidney stones, ginger pubes and old Collagen. One sip will have your butt cheeks begging to become one with a toilet seat. Just like what happens when you lick on Carrot Top himself! And yes even after that last sentence, I still would....the dude not the shake (see that part where I said I have no standards to speak of).