My morning time drunk idol is at it again. Angry whores threw "Do Not Pass Go, Report Directly To Rehab" cards at Kathie Lee Gifford a couple of months ago when she hiccuped out a chardonnay-laced oops by asking Martin Short how his wife was without realizing that his wife died a while ago. Kathie Lee apologized and turned an oops into a YAY by posthumously pouring one out into her mouth hole for Martin's wife. Well, Kathie Lee is up to her old tricks again and this time she's slightly offended Aretha Franklin.
On Today's Happy Time Drunk Hour yesterday morning, Kathie Lee and Hoda yapped about Aretha joining American Idol. Kathie Lee said that Aretha hates to fly, so that's going to be a problem, and that many of the young bitches auditioning might not even know who the Queen of Soul is. (Note: If you don't know who the Queen of Soul is, you should immediately be melted down into chaffing cream and smeared all over Aretha's legendary nipple plates.) Aretha is on top of this shit, because she immediately knocked the wine bottle out of Kathie Lee's mouth and handed that uneducated drunk a copy of the Encyclopedia of Aretha. Aretha set a trick straight with this statement to CNN:
"While I enjoy Kathie Lee and Hoda daily, her assessment is totally wrong! I've been to California from Detroit four times this year and Florida. I go wherever I choose to go comfortably on my custom bus.
Further, my audience and fans span the age of 8 to 90! And are multi-ethnic, and I am very well known to young adults, tweens and teens. Their parents play my music and I take care of my business whenever I sign on the dotted line!
I'm surprised Kathie Lee did not research my worldwide celebrity audience! She's usually right on top of things with a great sense of humor, but she's totally wrong this time. She should research me before she speaks about me. I'm sure she thought she was right; still enjoy Hoda and Kathie Lee!"
"I take care of my business whenever I sign on the dotted line!" are words to live by, but Aretha needs to do her research if she really thinks Kathie Lee is capable of doing research. Even if Today's interns wrote those Aretha facts on Kathie Lee's cards, she wouldn't be able to read them since reading words is hard when the studio is spinning and your best friend, Chateau Diana, is taking up all your attention by cooing out your name from across the room. That's why I don't do research! But I appreciate that Aretha provided some much-needed shade on a hot fucking day.
After two bland seasons of Steven Tyler licking his inner tube lips at lady contestants and JLo covering up her true diva bitch ways by acting like she genuinely cares about other people, American Idol has the chance to get double slapped back to life by Aretha Franklin's knock 'em dead titty balls. Queen Aretha has made it publicly known that she's open to the producers of American Idol entering her throne room to bow at her hooves and formally offer her a judge's chair. Aretha says she is ready rest her chichis on the judge's table and sip from a cup full of Diet Coke Slurpee while turning bitches who can't sing into puddles of human gravy with her glare.
Aretha tells CNN that she wants to "play a vital role in choosing the next American Idol." Aretha is really threatening Fox with a good time, because she says she'll even bring along her friend Patti LaBelle.
This is exactly what American Idol needs. Yes to Aretha, yes to Patti and yes to Aretha completing the trifecta of magic by getting Dionne Warwick. If you sing off key in front of Aretha and Dionne, Aretha will scalp you just by waving you away and Dionne will give you a number, hussy. The number to the nearest temp agency since you obviously need to get a day job. But sadly, Fox isn't going to make this happen. I mean, Fox hire a judge that can actually sing? HA! We know those bitches too well.
The likes of Aretha Franklin, Basement Baby, Meryl Streep, Anna Wintour, Olivia Wilde, Michael Kors and Andy Cohen all paid $40,000 a plate to pass through a mob of protesters (okay, there were like 4) to eat dinner at the Obama fundraiser at Sarah Jessica Parker's multi-million dollar West Village stall last night. Most stayed through dinner, listened to Obama's speech, did tequila shots off of Michael Kors' muffin top belly button with Michelle Obama, played a game of Pin the Tail on the SJP and "accidentally" wandered into SJP's shoe closet to "accidentally" steal some of her shit. But not Queen Aretha!
The light in SJP's dining room dimmed about 20 minutes into the event when Aretha picked up her glowing chichi domes and got out of that bitch. TMZ was outside of SJP's townhouse and they caught Aretha leaving 20 minutes after showing up. Aretha told them that food was "impressive" and they served "chicken with a mustard sauce, diced tomatoes and a lot of relishes on the side of the plate." Oh, Aretha left real early, because she had more important places to be. Specifically, important places that didn't only serve chicken. Really, chicken?! I know it was a fundraiser, but $40,000 for some shit you can find in the C-Town freezer section if you train your eyes to look for the words "Healthy Choice Chicken Cacciatore." For $40,000, I want eat some dolphin caviar sushi off of Obama's naked body in a champagne room that serves more than just Andre.
I bet Aretha snuck a few dinner rolls in her pocketbook to make up for the cheap ass meal.
This reminds me of when I went on a cruise with my mom and on the first night I sat in the dining room with her while wearing a sweatshirt with a swan playing a baby blue ukulele on it. Okay, I wasn't wearing that sweatshirt, but I just wanted to see if I could make that sentence even gayer. There was this old lady wearing a dusty blond wig at the table next to ours. One of her dinner mates asked her if she was going to have the chicken or the beef. Ole' girl was not playing when she said, "I can get chicken at home, honey. I'm here for the beef."
And that's how my favorite line to use at gay bars was born.
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.
A good wig, a strong breast cream that will keep her underchichi areas from chafing and a furrier who specializes in Muppet pelts are just some of the things that are important to Aretha Franklin, but she made it clear in a statement today that nothing is more important to her than the sanctity of marriage which is why she's decided to press pause on making William "Catfish" Wickerson her third husband:
"Will and I have decided we were moving a little too fast, and there were a number of things that had not been thought through thoroughly. There will be no wedding at this time. We will not comment on it any further because of the very personal and sensitive nature of it. We appreciate all of the many well wishes from friends."
So either: a) Catfish wasn't about to sign a prenup; or b) Catfish and Aretha didn't want to lose the quick sinful rush they feel from having premarital titty sex.
All of you need to do what Aretha Franklin's 8th world wonder chichis are doing in that picture above by hitting the ground to pay tribute to her and Catfish's love. After years and years of nearly drowning in her endless sea of chichis by motorboating without an anchor, Aretha's "forever friend" William "Catfish" Wilkerson has finally slipped a ring on her skinny ass finger and asked to become her third husband. People has the details from the lips of Retha and her rep about the wedding of the year:
The iconic singer, 69, and Wilkerson are discussing tying the knot on Miami Beach, with an exclusive reception aboard a private yacht.
And for her dress?
"Ms. Franklin is considering Donna Karan, Valentino and the queen of wedding dresses, Vera Wang, to design her gown," says her rep.
Adds Franklin herself of the upcoming nuptials: "We're looking at June or July for our date and no, I'm not pregnant, LOL!"
Last year, millions of nipple slits made a frown when Aretha Franklin was hospitalized with some kind of "mysterious illness," so I'm going to turn off my bitch switch for a quick second and throw out a calorie-free congratulations to the soon to be Mrs. Catfish! Wait. That's why Retha's marrying his ass. Since she has to stay away from fried catfish to keep her new body, she figures if you can't beat 'em, take their name. Go on, Mrs. Catfish!