Dumbasses

You know how sometimes when you're passed out drunk your friends (or in my case, your own mother) will write words like "DRUNK, WHORE, SKANK, PEEN SUCKER" all over your face? Well, 18-year-old Kimberley Vlaminck of Belgium claims that's what happened to her (sort-of). Except the fresh graffiti on her face wasn't from a Sharpie and couldn't be washed off with water or even hot gasoline. This fugness is pretty much permanent!

Kimmy tells the Daily Mail that she paid a Romanian tattoo artist £55 to decorate her face with only three stars. Kimmy, who might have the worst case of narcolepsy ever, says she fell asleep while the dude had a sharp needle on her face and woke up covered in STARZ. 56 stars to be exact.

Kimmy is suing the tattoo artist for £8,500, because that's how much it's going to cost to get them all removed. Kimmy says that she told him she only wanted 3 stars in English and French, but he must have misunderstood her. The tattoo artist says that Kimmy is made of lies, because she specifically asked for 56 stars. He said she was awake and even looked at the mirror a few times. He went on to say, "The trouble all started when she went home and her father and boyfriend threw a fit. They are saying things now like I doped her or hypnotized her. What rubbish!" It's safe to say that he's MADDER THAN FISH GREASE.

I've never had a tattoo, but I'm pretty sure that if you had a sharp ass needle right on your bone you wouldn't be skipping through the clouds in dreamland. The stupid bitch got the tattoo and her father threatened to quit her ass over it, so she played dumb.

It's really not that bad either. It kind of looks like her ear is queefing out stars. It's like Glamberace scooted all over her face. Look on the bright side. Or should I say, the "STARZ" side (GONG!!!!).

Kimmy is moaning that she can't leave the house now, "I am so embarrassed. I just look horrible."

Um. I've got news for Kimmy. The star bukkake on her face is less ridiculous than that SEXY belt buckle she's wearing.

Unfortunately, Twit and Twat did not get mauled by cannibal monkeys in Costa Rica. They are back in the states. But fortunately for us, Al Roker interviewed them on Today this morning and he acted like he would rather have been getting a prostate exam from this dude's hand. When Al Roker doesn't even want to breath the same air as you, you know it's time to retire to the nearest roach motel. I bet you if Twit and Twat were covered in powdered sugar and melted butter, Al still wouldn't want to get near them. That's serious.

The flesh-colored dick bush and his pony wife didn't miss a beat and immediately called into Ryan Gaycrest's KIIS-FM radio show to bitch about their treatment. Twatty told Ryan, "I'm still trying to figure out, was the weatherman asking us questions? I thought we were getting interviewed by Matt Lauer or something."

Heidi added, "I was shocked at how rude he was - I was crying afterwards because I couldn't believe I felt personally attacked. I wanted to say to him, do you feel proud of how you're talking to me right now? I'm just a young woman and you're coming at me so aggressively and meanly and mean-spirited. I really would advise women especially to be careful around him because I feel like he definitely came and attacked me and I did not appreciate that at all."

Cheeseburgers should be especially careful around Al Roker, but not women.

This is probably the only time in the history of ever that I actually liked Al Roker. Who knew that two queef bubbles would make that happen?

Let me take that back. This isn't the first time I felt a like in my no-heart for Al. This was the first time:

Sometimes when you're out boozing, one cocktail leads to another, which leads to a dozen more, which leads to you needing to go to the emergency room. You can't say you've really partied until you've walked out of an ER with dried up vomit all over your clothes and one less vital organ in your body. This is what happened to John Mayer's friend, Rob from MTV's Rob & Big, this past Saturday in L.A. That's what you get when you mix douchewater and Henny.

John had to drag Rob out of club MyHouse and shuttle his ass to the emergency room, because dude got the drunks in a serious way. A few hours later, John announced on his Twatter that Rob was going to live: "In triage at Cedars with @robdyrdek. When the contents of his stomach hit that silicon bag and we all saw it, we just broke into appluse."

Appluse is douchetardian for "applause." In case you were wondering.

John is really a true friend for taking his drunk as fuck friend to the emergency room and then clapping when Rob's Alize and ribs-scented barf hit the bag. That's what any good friend would do, but not every good drunk would agree to go. The last time a friend wanted to make to the hospital, I responded with, "Fuck that! I don't have insurance, bitch! Take me to McDonald's instead." Eating a Filet-O-Fish while suffering from the drunk dry heaves is the quickest way to induce vomiting. Tried and tested. Trust this!

Tuck your pussies in and grab your Valtrex, because we are all getting on the Rock of Love WAAAAAHMBULANCE.

Right after the hottest piece of scenery in the industry knocked Bret Michaels on his nasty ass at the Tony Awards, he sort of shrugged it off and said it really wasn't a big deal. Now that he's realized he can milk the shit out of this situation for attention, he's crying a different story. Bret posted these pictures of his busted face on his MySpace along with a total STFU statement.

While we are clapping for whoever was responsible for bringing that set piece down on Bret, he's blaming them. Bret said that he was never "informed that the descending set piece existed, let alone would be moving into position as he was exiting the stage." Bret was also pissed that a rep for the Tony Awards said Bret had missed his mark and that's why he got laid out by a super hot piece of scenery (Is it obvious that I'm love with a set piece?). Bret moaned that the Tony people would have cared more if this happened to Dolly Parton, Liza or Elton John.

I think Bret's weave-danna is on too tight. Liza and Dolly are LEGENDS! If a set piece fell on them, the world would stop and we'd all hold our breaths until we were told there wasn't a scratch on them. Which there wouldn't be, because they are both coated with some kind of scratch-proof substance.

Bret added that he doesn't know how bad his injuries are until his x-rays come back. He must have gone to some back alley free clinic where it takes weeks for x-rays to be processed. Their idea of an x-ray is shining a really bright flash night on his injuries while some crackhead draws a picture of it with a Sharpie. Stupid ass.

Bret is such a wittle baby. The whores on Rock of Love who attempt to eat his asshole probably suffer worse injuries than that. Put a bag over your head and stop whining.

I love how even though he's busted up he's still giving us a "Sexy Can I?" face.

VIA TMZ

Jeremy Piven is in NYC to continue arbitration with the producers of Speed of the Plow. The producers want Piven to pay up for abruptly bouncing out of the show causing ticket sales to dive. Piven cried "mercury poisoning", because he claims he ate too much sushi. (Insert Pig Pen pussy joke here).

The producers think something in the milk ain't clean about that whole mercury poisoning crap, but it's a serious matter for Piven. Piven told Michigan Avenue Magazine (via Page Six) that the real truth about the dangers of mercury will soon be revealed, "The Obama administration came out and said the No. 1 chemical problem in the world is mercury . . . there will be a lot of documentaries coming out showing what happens when you have too much mercury in your system." Then Piven joked, "It sounds like some crazy rich man's disease."

Maybe Piven had a little mercury poisoning, but the real reason why he quit that bitch had to do with the permanent case of douche flu he suffers from. And the cokey-litis he comes down with every now and again didn't help matters.

It's like when a dumb ho calls in sick to work and you know they are really just going to the beach to sun their nalgas. Then they come in the next day whining about how they were on death's door. You try not to slap their ass while staring at their new natural blonde highlights and sunburn. Piven, I can see your new highlights and sunburn. Just stop!

SPOILER ALERT: The "dumb ho" was me.

While MiserAlba was in Oklahoma City shooting The Killer Inside Me, she decided to spend her off hours saving the sharks by fucking up other people's property! You know, because it's widely known that Oklahoma City is a popular summer vacation spots for sharks.

The Lost Ogle says that last week MiserAlba pasted shark posters all over Downtown Oklahoma City as a way to raise awareness to the shrinking population of Great Whites. The problem is that there was no kind of information on the poster. It's just a poster of a Great White that she probably bought at the swap meet. This looks more like a gorilla marketing campaign for Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus. Now that would've been brilliant.

There's also another problem. MiserAlba covered up a billboard for United Way. The United Way told TMZ that they will probably have to pay to get the billboard replaced.

My favorite part is how she looks all proud of herself! She's like "Yay me!" I mean, she's even SMILING really big. She probably bought herself a cupcake afterwards for a job well done. And don't even accuse MiserAlba of not knowing anything about sharks. She was in Into the Blue after all and there were sharks in that movie. Duh.

You know the sharks are down in the ocean pasting posters of MiserAlba's angry face with the text, "You aren't helping" written on it.

UPDATE: MiserAlba issued an "I'm sowwy" statement to TMZ, but she kind of just blamed the shark people for leading her to vandalism: "I got involved in something I should have had no part of. I realize that I should have used better judgment and I regret not thinking things through before I made spontaneous and ill-advised decision to let myself get involved with the people behind this campaign. I sincerely apologize to the citizens of Oklahoma City and to the United Way for my involvement in this incident."

When Phil Spector was stuffed into a prison cell to serve 19 years for killing Lana Clarkson, he left behind his 28-year-old (don't choke) wife of 3 years Rachelle. During the trial, Rachelle wasn't allowed to whore herself out to the media, but now that it's over she can barf words from her mouth all she wants! Rachelle's first stop was the Los Angeles Times. Even though Rachelle loves to show off the 9-carat diamond ring on her finger, she wants the world to know that she's not a gold miner. Nope, she married Phil for *love*. Gag me with a fucking crimping iron.

Rachelle said that if she was a gold digger, she wouldn't be visiting Phil in prison any chance she could and she also wouldn't be licking on his soggy worm dick as much as she used to. Rachelle said, "We had sex. We were doing it all the time." Maybe that would explain why Rachelle looks like a middle-aged truck stop pussy peddler who has had more troll crotch on her ass than a horse at the Kentucky Derby. Not to mention that her eyebrows also look like they've been traumatized by the whole experience.

Rachelle also went on to say that she's not just with Phil for his coin, because she can easily support herself if she needed, "I can weed whack. Rip out walls. Lay tile." Obviously, she can't weed whack for shit, because look at her husband's hair.

Proving that she's just as gross as her husband, Rachelle says that living in the house that Lana died in doesn't bother her. Rachelle and Phil even got married in the same foyer Lane's body was found. Rachelle even sits in the chair Lana bled to death in. It doesn't bother her.

But what does bother her is that her gnome of a husband has been locked in a tiny cell for 24 hours of the day. Rachelle moaned, "He's locked in a 5-by-9 cell, 23 1/2 hours a day. They treat people worse than animals. I want that known." And I want it known that you are not a certified member of the Gold Diggers Club, but I'm sure the Dumb Stupid Skank Bitch Whore Club will gladly accept you. Their club president, Paris Hilton, will be contacting you any day now.

Seriously, crying about a 5-by-9 cell? That's bigger than most NYC apartments!

Before LeAnn Rimes goes to bed at night, she pops the cum bubble from her husband's ass, then she goes into her garage, lights the candles around her Eddie Cibrian altar and sings a haunting acoustic version of "How Do I Live Without You? (Your Wife Must Die)" while sticking hot razors into a Brandi Glanville voodoo doll. That's what Eddie Cibrian's wife, Brandi Glanville, is saying. Basically. Brandi told UsWeekly that LeAnn Rimes is obsessed with her husband. I didn't see LeAnn Rimes disguised as a pile horse doody just to get close to the object of her erection, so Brandi needs to re-evaluate her use of the term "obsessed." Moving on....

A couple of months ago, there were rumors going around that LeAnn and Eddie were doing it on the down low. They denied it, but now Brandi is saying that LeAnn is stalking her man. If you see a car with an "Attention: Can I Get Some?" bumper sticker, that's Brandi. Wave hello and shout out the lyrics to "Can't Fight the Moonlight."

Brandi tells Us, "LeAnn is a stalker. She refuses to leave us alone -- it is shameful and scary. People are going to say it takes two to tango and I get that, but at some point LeAnn needs to stop asking him to dance." And by "dance," Brandi means FUCK TILL THE BREAK OF DAWN.

Carry on Brandi... "I'm a happy wife fighting for what I have. LeAnn is so desperate for fame she has left her self-respect in the gutter and doesn't care who she hurts to get what she wants. She's hurting my family and messing with the wrong mom."

LeAnn's spokeswhore did not comment, but a friend of hers snapped his fingers and got all sassy with his response, "Eddie and Brandi are both on the record on this and LeAnn has kept quiet, so what does that tell you about who is after fame and press?"

What I'm hearing is that Eddie did light up LeAnn's vagina at least one time and she just can't let go of the peen. Instead of putting on her money-handling gloves and taking as much coin from Eddie as she can, Brandi's off blabbing to a tabloid. Yeah, Eddie might not have much bacon in the bank, but that's not the point. Brandi is fighting the wrong battle. She should be working on taking the cash and cashing the check!

I wish there was such thing as CLT+ALT+FLUSH INTO THE TOILET, because that's where this picture belongs. So why is Horsey Montag's face slowly melting into her lap? It's because she's got the sads. Well, also her face is 99% plastic and the Costa Rican heat is turning it into an overcooked Shrinky Dink, but mostly because she's sad. Heidi and her walking fleshy pube bush husband, Spencer Twatt, have been in South America for just a couple of days filming I'm A Famewhore, Give Me Relevance and they already want out! The reality show premieres tonight and Twit and Twat have already threatened to walk off twice!

A source told Ryan Seacrest that on day one of filming they complained about the conditions. The show is about a bunch of celebwhores trying to survive in the middle of the jungle, but these two dick farts thought they would be living the life. The source went on to say, "They wanted to be treated like stars. Spencer literally thought he and Heidi were staying in a Four Seasons, working out and getting a tan."

They also complained that the rest of the cast (which includes Janice Dickinson and Lou Diamond Phillips) just isn't starry enough for them. The source says that Heidi complained, "I wish they got some real celebrities like K-Fed."

Obviously, this is just some manufactured stunt that was created to get us to watch this desperate spectacle. Like Twit and Twat would ever walk away from a camera?! Not even if a tiger was mauling their pathetic asses. Speaking of, methinks Heidi doesn't have to worry about anything in the jungle attacking her ass, because there's not a beast on this planet (besides Spencer) that wants to put THAT in its mouth.

And what happened to you, Lou Diamond Phillips?! From La Bamba to Young Guns to 7 episodes of Numb3rs to THIS?! THE ECONOMY is really going too far, but Lou had other options! Seriously, selling your ass on the ho stroll is more respectable than this wreck of wrecks!

The dolt who is suing Chris Brown and L.A. Fitness is the star witness for the defense thanks to this video shot right after the incident. Robert Rosen filed a lawsuit yesterday claiming Chris' bodyguards and a gym employee caused him to fall down the stairs. Robert says that while he was lying on the ground, they beat his ass. They must have beat all the common sense out of his ass.

In the video, Robert seems as perky as a boner. Robert laughs it off to the paps and said that falling down the stairs was kind of his fault. Oh, well. It doesn't look like money is going to rain all over Robert any time soon. At least he's always have his looks. I wonder what the demand is for a third-rate Rob Estes impersonator?