We're coming up on hour three of Whitney Houston's "Going Home" memorial and I don't know how my eyelids are still able to open after sitting through Kevin Costner talking for 35 million minutes about himself, himself, himself, himself, Jesus, himself, himself and how he himself put Whitney in The Bodyguard when nobody else wanted her in it. Oh, and he talked about himself and how Whitney is auditioning before God now (or something like that). The dozens of people taking a nap with their eyes open should've been the choir's cue to sing Kevin off the stage, because DAMN. Dances with Woofs was shorter than Kevin's speech.
Anyway, if Aretha Franklin was there, she would've knocked Kevin from the podium with her hip, but she pulled out from performing during Whitney's funeral. Aretha's leg muscles just wouldn't let her be great. Aretha gave this statement to People a couple of hours before Whitney's funeral today:
"Regretfully, I am so sorry that I was unable to be with you at Whitney's service today. I had every intention of being there. But unfortunately I had terrible leg spasms and locked leg muscles until 4:00 a.m. this morning following my concert last night, which I've been having for the last few days.
I feel it necessary and very important to stay off my leg today as much as possible until concert time this evening. My heart goes out to my dear friend Cissy, Dionne, Bobbi Kristina and the rest of the family. May God keep them all. – Aretha & the Franklin Family."
If only Aretha knew there is a nurse at the funeral who would've soothed her leg spams as she hollered out some musical notes for Whitney. Seriously, there's an
nurse usher in a white nurse's hat and everything handing out tissues to the people in the pews. There really should be a nurse in a 50s nurse's uniform at every funeral, because sometimes you really need a tissue from an authority figure in white.
UPDATE: Here's Kevin Costner's eulogy in its entirety. Okay, okay, the last part was a nice tribute.
Short answer: EVERYBODY!
Long answer: Tyler Perry, Mad Mel, Aretha Franklin, Alicia Keys, Cousin Dionne (DUH), Kevin Costner, High Priestess Oprah, Stevie Wonder, Clive Davis, Bobby Brown, CeCe Winans, Marvin Winans, Ray J and Rickey Minor.
Whitney Houston's funeral is tomorrow at the same Newark, NJ church where she first yodeled in the choir and I half expect Giuliana Rancic to be on the red carpet asking mourners who they're wearing. It's turning out to be like that. Celebrity after celebrity has been invited and People will start live streaming it in the morning. Aretha Franklin, who was like a godmother to Whitney, is going to sing and Kevin Costner is expected to reenact scenes from The Bodyguard. No, but Kevin Costner is going to speak. The name that is punching me in the eyeballs until all I see are stars spelling out the letters "W-T-F" is Mel Gibson's name. According to TMZ, Mel "I Hope You Get Raped By A Pack Of..." Gibson tried to help Whitney get off the bad shit a while ago and her family has always been grateful for that.
Mel has already told the family that he can't go, which sort of sucks, because you know who else is going? Those fame whoring heathen cunt demons of The Westboro Baptist Church. Mad Mel would rage their faces right off and we'd be rid of those crazies forever. But I guess we don't need Mel for that since Cousin Dionne will be there. Cousin Dionne's got the number of every single one of those hussies.
LL Cool J opened the Grammys last night by asking the audience to tip the ego globes on their necks while he said a prayer for Whitney Houston. This reminded my ass of when I was dragged to church as a kid and was forced to bow my head during prayer times. I'd split my "bowing head" time between counting the lines on my red corduroy pants (yes, I wore red in church like a true sinful hussy-in-training), wondering if my mom would let me order that chocolate smiley face pancake at iHOP for breakfast and using my up-eye to see who else was slipping into a boredom coma like me. I didn't see any hos doing this during LL's prayer, but I did see Mitch Winehouse and Tony Bennett keeping their heads up in a sea of bowing domes. Tony's head was too high with weed smoke (pepaw loves the good shit) to pull it down and Mitch was wondering where the hell the Jewish blessing for Amy Winehouse was? Or maybe it's because they're Jewish. Or maybe it's because they're just like me, watching LL Cool J slurp on his lips while reciting a prayer is a much more spiritual experience than bowing my head.
And presented without shade, here's JHud's tribute to Whitney.
Okay, maybe just a drop of shade. This would've been so much better if Kevin Costner carried Dolly Parton on stage during the middle of JHud's performance and she sang the rest of this song. Dolly would've show JHud how that shit is really done (and by "that shit" I mean singing and wearing a lacefront).
Well, here's just another layer of sad on another layer of sad. TMZ, who else, reported about an hour ago that Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown's 18-year-old daughter Bobbi Kristina was taken out of the Beverly Hilton this morning on a stretcher. I've been sitting on it, because I've been waiting to hear more. TMZ hasn't updated their post yet, but ABC News was told that Bobbi Kristina was awake and alert when paramedics took her to Cedars-Sinai. Someone's publicist (ABC doesn't say whose) says that Bobbi Kristina is suffering from major anxiety. People also reports that Bobbi Kristina went to Cedars last night after having a breakdown.
I've got nothing except one question: Why in the hell isn't Bobaaay B in L.A. already?
The autopsy on Whitney Houston's body will happen sometime today and we probably won't know her official cause of death until those toxicology reports come back (everything I learned about autopsies and toxicology reports, I learned from Dr. G and TMZ), but TMZ has put their tiny camera on the back of their trained fly and sent it into Whitney's room at the Beverly Hilton to find out what happened yesterday afternoon.
Their source says that Whitney always took Xanax before a big performance to help numb her nerves a bit. Whitney was supposed to sing at Clive Davis' pre-Grammy party last night and so she took a few Xanax. Then she decided to take a bath while her hairdresser, stylist and two bodyguards were in the next room. Whitney's team realized she was in the tub for a long time and so her stylist knocked on the door. There was no answer, so her stylist went into her bathroom and found her unconscious. Whitney's face was completely underwater and it looked like she had slid under after falling asleep. The stylist called for one of Whitney's bodyguards and he pulled her out of the tub, but it was too late. Kevin Costner, you had one job to do and you let us all down!
Radar says that none of the bad shit was found in Whitney's room, but they did find Lorazepam, Valium, Xanax and some sleeping medication. Of course, none of this has been confirmed and it's only information whispered into TMZ's ears as a manila envelope filled with a stack of cash passed under the table.
As for Bobby Brown's ass, he found out about Whitney's death a few hours before a New Edition show in Mississippi. Bobby B went on anyway and after he got on stage, he said "I love you, Whitney" as he pointed at the ceiling. Meanwhile, as Bobby B was performing with New Edition, his daughter Bobbi Kristina was in L.A., but she wasn't in the same room as her mom.
And the Grammys will have a tribute to Whitney during tonight's show. JHud and Chaka Khan will each sing something. My dream of Cousin Dionne taking the stage tonight to curse us all out for this is not going to happen. Dionne Warwick is inconsolable and is with the entire Houston family today.
Tony Bennett Calls For The Legalization Of The Good Shit, The Bad Shit And Every Other Kind Of Shit!
If President Obama, Congress and all the Houses quit their jobs and handed all their power over to Tony Bennett, you'd soon be able to waltz into a Duane Reade to pick up a bottle of lube (not the Pimp Mama Kris-endorsed one), a bag of hot fries, a roll of toilet paper and a box of crack rocks. At Clive Davis' pre-Grammy gala, held at the same hotel where Whitney Houston passed away, Tony said that deaths of Amy Winehouse, Michael Jackson and Whitney might have not happened if all drugs were legal. Preach it, pepaw!
"First it was Michael Jackson, then Amy Winehouse, now, the magnificent Whitney Houston. I'd like every person in this room to campaign to legalize drugs.
Let's legalize drugs like they did in Amsterdam. No one's hiding or sneaking around corners to get it. They go to a doctor to get it."
The only shit I know about Amsterdam I learned from an episode of House Hunters International, but I'm pretty sure that only weed is legal there and they still have to buy their 8-balls from a sketchy dealer with stank breath in the dark part of an alley way like the rest of us. Also, Michael Jackson died of a prescription pill overdose and it's looking like Whitney didn't take any illegal drugs before she went up to star in Heaven's remake of Sparkle with Aaliyah. It is kind of bizarre that Xanax and Valium are completely legal, yet whenever my weed man comes to visit, I have to pat him down to make sure he's not wearing a wire tap. Actually, that's not why I pat him down. I pat him down because he lets me and it's pretty much the only kind of action I get.
Anyway, Pepaw Tony means well and some of what he says sort of makes sense if you think about how many billions are spent and how many people die from the war on drugs shit. But that's some shit for a different day. I think what Tony is really trying to say is that he wants to be able to buy a damn joint wherever he goes.
Here's a few pictures from Clive Davis' gala last night and let me predict the future by typing what you're going to think in about 5 seconds: What in the name of veiny titty balls was Kim Kardashian doing there?! Call me Miss Cleo.
In order: Toni Braxton, Rita Wilson & Tom Hanks, nobody, Glamberace, Amber Rose (no comment on those Klingon brows and gremlin lips), Diana Ross, a Diana Ross wannabe and Our Lady of Perpetual Cheetos.
I'd say you had a good night if you came stumbling out of a club with scratches on your arm, blood running down your leg, a gut full of coke bloat, sweaty strands of hair in your face and your scattered emotions switching from "I LOVE ALL Y'ALL!" to "FUCK ALL Y'ALL!" in the blink of a side-eye. But when I see Whitney Houston stumbling out Kelly Price's Grammy party looking like this, I don't need to see any receipts before I shake my head while cursing Ray-J's crooked dick for this. It seems as soon as Whit hopped on Ray-J's crooked dick for a second time, she got struck with the crackhead fever again. My feelings about all of this are best expressed through the sea of endless side-eyes around Whitney.
I don't know how I feel about it, but 2012 is turning out to be the year of leaky singers. No, I should think positive. Maybe that's not blood on Whitney's leg. Maybe that doody bubble finally popped. That's a trail of relief running down her leg.
The only Whitney who should have her own show on NBC was up to her old bitch diva theatrics yesterday afternoon when she refused to fasten her seatbelt before taking off on a Delta flight out of Atlanta. You would think that the seatbelt was paper mache'ed with the receipts from her old crack dealers, because Whitney wasn't interested in laying one of her fingers on it.
TMZ reports that you can add the phrase "Buckle up, Miss Houston" to the long list of lines that turn on Whitney Houston's cunt switch. A source says that Whitney was sitting in her seat when a flight attendant asked her to put the top boy part into the bottom boy part, but she was not interested and ignored the request. Now, if one of us refused to buckle, we would've been tased in the mouth, kicked off to Guantanamo Bay and they'd still make us pay the $50 fee for checking in our luggage. But not Whitney. A second crew member approached Dionne's cousin and told her that if she didn't strap in she'd have to shoop shoop off the damn plane.
So Whitney had a choice: get kicked off the plane or buckle her seatbelt. Whitney took what was behind door number DIVA and allowed the flight attendant to fasten her seatbelt for her.
A source claims that Whitney is every type of sober and her nerves were just a little splintery from missing her original flight.
You have to be a brave bitch with some still hands to come at Whitney. Imagine having to buckle her in. It would be like trying to wrap a baby bib around a great white shark. It would've been a lot easier if the flight attendant told Whitney that as soon as she fastens her shit, the buckle will press against her belly and all her doody bubbles would pop out right away. Who needs Bobby B Bobby B?
David Gest really needs to keep his bestiality fantasies involving Bubbles, Whitney Houston and Michael Jackson to himself, because the world doesn't want to know the SUCIONESS that slithers around in the gutters of his imagination. Okay, maybe we do, because if he did keep that mess to himself we'd never have this hilariously creepy story about a chimp's toe sucking fetish. This is what David Gest said during a Michael Jackson documentary that's supposed to air in the UK this October:
“Whitney was having dinner with Michael at his Neverland home when she accidentally dropped her knife under the table. While Michael was retrieving it for her, Whitney felt her toes being sucked. She moaned, ‘Michael, is that you? Don’t stop. That’s so sensual’. Yet Michael’s head popped up and her toes were still being sucked. It turned out it was Bubbles."
HAHAHAHA. David needs to show us the receipts or shut his second face, because this really reads like bad fan fiction. Like Whitney would ever use the word "sensual." Bitch isn't Courtney Stodden! Whitney would say something like "Ooooh, baby, suck the dirt out of that nail!" or "Get that jam like your tongue is peanut butter and we're trying to swirl up some Goobers!" or "When you're done there, baby, use that sweet suction cup mouth to suck out my doodie bubble, because I got a boatload with a stuck anchor."
Wait. Maybe that's why they call him BUBBLES?! Shit. Good. Night.
via The Mirror
As Bobbaaaaaay B tries to sleep off the drunks on airplanes, Whitney Houston is still trying to kick the urge to suck on a crack pipe until her brain turns to fog. When Whitney started outpatient rehab last month, there were rumors that she was getting help after getting back on that whack shit. Whitney has yet to talk about this. But TMZ says that she's really trying to keep clean and has hired a life coach to help her.
A source says that Whit just finished up that 30-day outpatient program and is now working with a life coach who is living with her and trying to keep her from dancing something evil in a cloud of crack smoke. The source went on to say, "She really wants it this time."
Whitney's singing voice now sounds like a porcupine scooting a fart over a sheet of sandpaper, but I'm sure once this life coach sorts her out she'll be as good as new!
Take all the time you need, Whit! Pop that crack habit the way Bobby used to pop your doody bubbles! Don't worry, Maya Rudolph is leaving her family so that she can play you full-time while you get your shit together.