This DOESN'T Belong In A Museum
The only news source in the world I trust The Daily Mail posted a breaking news story this morning about how Beyonce took this picture of her hilariously terrifying nails and posted it to her Tumblr. My first thought about this was, "Where was I when the master Rembrandt resurrected himself and started working as a nail artist in some salon in Tribeca?" Because those nails are HIGH art. My second thought about this was, "Does Beyonce realize how close hers and Jay-Z's faces will be to her culo lips when she wipes her butt? Is she that far up her own ass?" That second thought was one of my many dumb bitch moments, because Beyonce has never wiped her own ass. Silly me. That's what a bidet is for. And by a bidet, I mean a little person dressed as a golden cherub who stands next to her toilet and spits out champagne whenever she sticks her butt in his face.
But guess what? For the first time in journalism history, The Daily Mail got something wrong! I know, slap your ass and say it ain't so. But they did. These aren't Beyonce's nails. These are one of her fan's nails and Beyonce loved them so much (because her face are on 'em, duh) that she posted it on her Tumblr. I can laugh at this fan for being crazy, but I'm not one to talk, because my butt would smell like glue if they made Prince Hot Ginge decals for your ass lips.
If you've got 23 minutes of free time, 23 brain cells to spare and want to see a touching tribute to the late and great Ass Dan, then smear your eyes with topical ointment and watch the long as hell infomercial for 2012's Gathering of the Juggalos. Cave-In-Rock, Illinois will once again become ground zero for fuckery when Juggalos and Juggalettes gather together for nearly a week full of clown-faced debauchery. You should hold your head with two hands before you read this year's line-up, because you might shake it off your neck. This year's line-up includes: The Game, George Clinton, The Fat Boys, Jamie Kennedy, Bobcat Goldthwait, a Michael Jackson Tribute, Master P, Raekwon and The Pharycide. George Clinton, what are you doing?! Has it really come to this? Do the Dancing with the Stars people not have your number? Damn.
You know, every year I toy with going to this mess, because I really want to see a pregnant Juggalette smoke meth out of an empty Faygo bottle in the middle of a clown orgy, but then I change my mind since I'm really not ready to die. But this year I might have to take that chance, because they had me at the words: Faygo, hot dogs and hamburgers will rain on the stage!
Running out on your bride when she's standing right in front of you at your wedding is not okay.....unless she's covering your face with a veil of her spit while singing out Xtina's "The Right Man." If you don't want permanent skin creases around your mouth area, hold the bottom part of your face, because your natural instinct will be to cringe through this entire awkward mess of a video. I cringed for everyone involved. I cringed for that crazy bride, who's obviously a theater major, for thinking that Glee is real life. I cringed for that hot lady in the green, because she had to resist the urge to stop that crazy bride's singing by pulling that trick's train real hard. I'm cringing for everyone in the pews for having to control themselves from barfing up huge chunks of laughs. I'm cringing for that dude with the Oakley sunglasses on his head for not knowing that it's never okay to wear Oakley sunglasses on your head indoors (that was more of a cringing side note). And I'm especially cringing for the groom who has to take a face full of his future wife's belting while wishing that he'll suddenly come down with a severe case of explosive diarrhea so he has a reason to run out of there. But your bride making all sorts of constipation faces while singing a song in the aisle IS a good reason to quit that bitch.
What a high school talent show MESS. That groom looks like he wants to fall backwards into a coffin and die, but he's afraid what she'll sing at his memorial.
I wonder which Xtina song she sang after the ceremony when her new husband said he had to get something from the car AND NEVER FUCKING CAME BACK. I'm guessing she went with "Walk Away" or "Beautiful."
And deep down, I really hope this is viral marketing for Oakley.
via CNN (Thanks to everybody who sent this in)
Several of you sent this mess to me today and as I was reading about this Chuck Testa-approved art project I slowly laughed until my laughs turned into dry heaves. Oh, the fuckery produced by the human brain never ceases to amaze me.
When Orville, a cat belonging to Dutch artist Bart Jansen, got hit by a car and died, he wasn't cremated and poured into a wooden box like most cats. Bart looked at Orville's dead body and somehow decided to turn his beloved cat friend into a hovercraft pussy. I'm guessing that when Bart's brain barfed up that thought, his mouth was placed firmly on a bong full of PCP-laced weed. Or maybe Bart was just high on art, because art is a helluva drug on its own.
The L.A. Times said that Bart used his hands to attach a propeller to each one of Orville's paws and not once did he think he should use his hands for something more productive. You know like slapping the shit out of himself for turning his dead cat's body into a flying toy. After Bart finished his creation called the Orvillecopter (file that under: things I can't with), he debuted it at the KunstRai ArtFair in Amsterdam. Bart said that this what Orville would've wanted, because what cat wouldn't want to be soaring through the sky with the birds?
"After that he received his wings posthumously. Now he is flying with the birds. The greatest goal a cat could ever reach!"
Orville doesn't look like he's happy to be flying through the sky with the damn birds. Orville looks terrified. Like he just got hit by a car. Oh wait. I don't even know what to write about this. Is turning your dead cat into a working helicopter as crazy as turning a dead bear into a rug? Yes. Does Orville give a shit about this? Probably not, but that doesn't make it right or okay. Think of all the tiny birds who are having tiny bird heart attacks over seeing the last sign of their rapture: an overlord hovercat. Birds are doomed when pussies can fly.
I'm making a vow that if my dog kisses the mouth of the Grim Reaper before me, I will not turn his body into a helicopter. Flying is a physical activity and my lazy dog is allergic to every physical activity, so I will not disrespect him like that. I'll turn him into a sofa pillow instead. And if I go first, he can turn me into a bacon dispenser. See, we respect each other!
Only press play if you're okay with using X amount of seconds of your day and okay with straining several muscles in your face from mouthing the words "what in every God's name am I watching..." on a loop. The porn iguana Courtney Stodden should be sitting in a chair in school, but instead she's using her time to make performance art pieces like this one of her as a cat. Courtney isn't trying to put on a total sexy pussycat act on either. Bitch is acting like an actual cat! This is some high school drama club exercise shit! Courtney coughs up a weave ball, eats cat food out of a bag and kicks litter around with her lucite heels. It's a Sarah McLachlan song away from being the most terrifying SPCA PSA ever. Please spay, neuter (and don't drug up) your pets!
If the anticipation for the all-pecs Showgirls, Magic Mike, was a hot piece you met at a bar, then its trailer will feel you with the same cold emotion you feel when you pull down that hot piece's chonies and stare directly at a tequila worm-sized soft dick that is looking at you like, "Meh." The blood from your sex parts rushes up into your brain. That's not what's supposed to happen!
Magic Mike is supposed to be 90 minutes of man bananas flopping around in hammocks over and over again, but by the looks of the trailer that's not what it is at all. Close-up shots of sweat trickling down Matt Boner's nipple have been replaced by shots of the ugly ass junkyard furniture Channing Tatum's stupid character made. A slow motion montage of ass cheeks clenching on stage has been replaced by some annoying walking lady jaw who won't stop talking! Joe Man-Jello twerking his pecs to "Turbo Love" has been replaced by a RiRi Song. Why couldn't the marketing whores for this movie just give me the trailer that was in my head?!
I don't want some rom-com where a bottom of the barrel Blake Lively (who is a bottom of the barrel Kate Hudson who is a bottom of the barrel Goldie Hawn) keeps telling the strippers to put their clothes on, stop dancing, cover up, don't be a stripper, do something with their lives, blah, blah, blah ... Bitch is like that parent who keeps knocking on the bathroom door while you're trying to fap in piece.
Steven Soderbergh, thousands of pairs of blue balls hate you today.
If a color blind 11-year-old Little Monster used Photoshop 1 on the half broken first generation Mac in his parent's garage to make a fan made poster for Lady CaCa's "Born This Way Ball" Tour, it would look a lot hotter than the "side of a van" shit THIS BITCH came up with. This is like something out of Lisa Frank's New Wave period and I do not appreciate.
There's really no safe place but the pink triangle for my eyeballs to land. That floating alien CaCa head is making the Three Wolf Moon wish they were mute and that castle is a direct threat to my childhood since it's reminding me of Castle Grayskull. If CaCa wanted to out-fug her "Born This Way" album cover, she didn't need to bring He-Man or the Three Wolf Moon into it.
via Twitter (Thanks to everybody who sent this in)
TMZ took a break from posting the 32-page divorce documents filed by an extra who was on an episode of Entourage once (I'll post those next) and gave us what our eyes really crave: pictures of delicious dick cake! Unfortunately, this delicious dick has Miley Cyrus' face attached to it. But a BOO for us is always a YAY for Billy Ray (that rhymed and I'm not proud of it).
TMZ posted priceless picture after priceless picture of Miley Cyrus licking the taint under a herpes-ridden chocolate dick cake at the birthday party of her boyfriend Liam Hemsworth in L.A. on Saturday night. Either nothing makes Liam's mouth slobber like a giant black dick topped with an open herp sore or Liam got the cake to keep Miley occupied all night.
Yes, this makes me like Miley just a little, tiny bit, but I still can't believe how stupid everybody at this party was for bringing a big black dick cake out. You do not bring a black peen cake to a party in L.A. That's like feeding a mogwai after midnight. That's like giving my cousin alcohol at a party when you know very well she's going to ruin all the fun by drunk crying in the corner about how her life has become a tragic puddle of Emo-ness.
Do you know what happens when you bring a black peen cake to a party in L.A.? As soon as you're done nibbling the pube beads (or whatever that is) off of it, you will hear the soul-killing sound of the Four Whoresmen galloping toward the door. Khloe Kardashian will bust in with an E! camera crew and NOM NOM NOM every crumb of red velvet out of those chocolate nuts. Kim Kardashian will bust in and destroy that chocolate peen by hugging it with her fat ass flaps of doom. Kourtney Kardashian will bust in and kill the entire mood of the party by whining about how her sisters didn't leave anything for her. Finally, Pimp Mama Kris will bust in and force everybody at the party to sign contracts releasing their rights to any future profits of the cake smashing video they just shot. The only thing left would be a drool pool left by Khloe and a whole lot of empty stomachs hungry for delicious black peen cake.
And here's Lady CaCa's latest first year art school video project which will suck up fourteen minutes of your life. Yes, it's 13:47 minutes long. Bitch, you're not Michael Jackson! If you have more important things to do with your 14 minutes, like wash your ass hairs one strand at a time, then let me break it down for you.
It opens with a scene straight out of CaCa, Interrupted where she's pushed on a gurney into some hospital room/train station lounge/vacuum of pretension after just having an abortion (or gender reassignment surgery, I'm not sure....). CaCa acts for a bit but all I can focus on is how her eyebrows look like albino pubes. Then suddenly we're in an apartment where CaCa speaks Google French, has an orgy with Cheerios, fucks her ego raw in the bathtub and twirls around in a maxi-pad bra. (I think that part symbolizes her gestating in a cocoon before emerging into the world as a Madonna clone.)
The next part was all a blur. I was slapped with Black Swan, punched in the eyes by Flashdance, kneed in the nose by All That Jazz and violently fucked in the ear by Step It Up before I completely overdosed on pretension and shut down. I'm not sure, but I think it ended with CaCa selling her soul to the dark side to become the devil empress of pop she is today. Thank you for letting us know you're a slave to the Illuminati, CaCa. But you didn't have to take up 14 minutes of our time to tell us that. I mean, Nina Hagen already told us and it only took her 5 seconds to do it!
Click here if you can't see that shit above
If you molded a Raven from RuPaul's Drag Race statue out of Kellan Lutz's hard ripped shits (yes, even his shits have a six-pack on them), Madge's escapee arm veins and Jodie Marsh's old face, then covered it with whatever you cover a Barbie with, threw a chestnut-colored FLOR tile on its head and pinched its face until it looked like it was trying to push out a fart through its nipple holes, you'd have Joey Lawrence in a completely natural and not-at-all staged glamour shoot in the middle of a West Hollywood park the other day.
If you unplugged those plugs and dropped a miniature beret on top of his head, he'd be the white Blaine Edwards! Three snaps toward a bottle of Pepto-B, because Joey looks like he has the runs and is trying to hold in a butt plug at the same time (the butt plug is winning). LOVED-ED IT!
Hair plug maintenance, weekly body fur removal and anus tinting don't pay for themselves, so flex your way to that money, bitch. Let the flames of jealousy shooting off of your haters' eyes singe your stray brow hairs so they stay looking like they just stepped off of the face of a Disney evil queen. Twerk, werk, whoa!