Our Lady of Cheetos' former bodyguard who accused her of belt beating her Cheetolings and trying to woo him onto her sandwich bed by flashing her Frito Lay pie at him is striking a little fear into Daddy Spears and company. This is coming from TMZ anyways. They say that Daddy Spears can't even stir his Veleeta grits right, because he feels a SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE DOWN coming at them from the bodyguard Fernando Flores.
Fernando filed a lawsuit against Brit Brit for sexual harassment, and apparently he wants to try the case in a civil court. Why does his ass want to do that? Well, so he can slip on his tap dancing shoes and sing out all of Brit Brit's secrets on the public stage. This has filled Daddy Spears with all kinds of worry, so he's begging the court to move that shit to probate court where everything said will be kept from the public's ears. There's a hearing scheduled at the end of the month.
This Fernando bitch again? Will somebody kindly tap Fernando's tongue with a giant GET A FUCKING CLUE stick since he obviously doesn't understand that most of us know everything about Brit Brit. We've seen her cunt plug's string, for fucks sake! We're way past the "covering our eyes when we walk in on her nekkid" thing. The only thing that could possibly dent Brit Brit's reputation is if Fernando said that he once witnessed her adding a bag of microwave broccoli to a bowl of Easy Mac and Slim Jims. That's it.
And honestly, the only part that sucks about this is when Brit Brit hears Daddy Spears whisper the words "shake down", because it perks her up thinking that Shake 'N Bake night has been moved up in the week. Poor bitch has to pull off her eatin' dickey when she finds out that it's still Doritos meat loaf night.
Here's a few pictures of Brit Brit buying CDs at Barnes & Nobles yesterday afternoon.
The invisible toddler leash attached to Brit Brit's ass lips might soon be cut, because the days of her needing a permission slip to take a caca with the door closed are coming to an end! Radar reports that on Thursday afternoon, Our Lady of Cheetos met with the judge in her conservatorship case to see if she's ready to cross the street without holding Daddy Spears hand.
Apparently, Daddy Spears and the other conservator think that the pink wig phase in Brit Brit's life is completely over and his reign as Cheeto Master could stop in about 3 months. Some source tells Radar, "Britney also will be releasing an album in 2011, and there are other projects in the works. Britney knows that she came close to losing everything before, and she doesn't want that to happen again. No one wants Britney to fall prey to the people that were in her life during the time when her problems overwhelmed her. Britney's inner circle now is very close, and trusted."
Somewhere on a deserted highway, London the dog is hitchhiking back to California with a pink wig, a Starbucks coupon book, and Assistant Carla's home address in his knapsack. Pour a Venti Frapp into the crazy train's gas tank and keep the motor running, because the gas-hopping gang is getting back together! Noooo.
Daddy Spears has proven that the magic he sprinkles into his Velveeta grits works wonders, so now that he's almost done taming Brit Brit's crazy, maybe he can lease his services out to other needy cases (hint: any bitch with the last name Lohan whose insides are filled with the bad shit and drug dealer jizz).
Did Poochie give Brit Brit a few neck hickeys when they got a little too hot and heavy the other night? Did her Cheetolings attack her with Lisa Frank stamps when she was passed out from a Fritos nachos coma on a fold-up lawn chaise on the driveway? Did she recently spend time in a prison for fairies where they marked her with DIY tattoos made with scented Crayons, a bee's ass and Disney Princess stencils?
Or maybe this is Brit Brit's way of distracting all of us from the fact that she's wearing a BRA in broad daylight! There's no shame for Brit Brit's nips (they taste like processed cheese too) like getting covered up in public. Don't worry, Brit Brit's nips, her belly button is poking out since you can't!
Here's Brit Brit's rent-to-own boyfriend Jason Trawick taking his oiled up parts for a walk in Hawaii yesterday, and since we have him here we should answer the question you should always ask yourself whenever you see a legal piece with the kind of genitals you crave: WOULD YOU HIT IT?
You know, Jason is a strange one. Dude is like that one night trick you take home who takes off all his clothes for the first time and gives you a body you weren't expecting. You check your receipts to make sure you brought home the right bitch and everything. When I first saw pictures of Jason with his nipples out, I was a little surprised because I didn't expect him to be as ripped as Kirstie Alley's chonies after a fart (sorry).
It's like if Sam Trammell was about to start shooting a remake of The Machinist and we caught him halfway through his manorexic transformation. Or if you stopped Sam Merlotte right after he began shapeshifting into Benjamin Button. So yeah, I'd hit it.
You know Brit Brit gets all slobbery for his abs too. And not because they are all muscly and shit. No. If she pretends she's at the food court, they look like a Cinnabon six-pack before getting frosted. I'm not going to make two sexual frosting jokes in a row (see post below), so you'll have to do this one yourself.
Giving Chester Cheetah his fapping material for the week (How do you think Velveeta sauce is made?), Brit Brit hit a beach in Hawaii yesterday wearing a delicious Cheetokini. Brit Brit's Coke can holder/boyfriend Sam Merlotte Extra Light escorted her since Daddy Spears opted to go to the nekkid beach instead.
Brit Brit's weave doesn't look like a plate of fried straw potatoes with crusty mushroom gravy on top, so I'm just going to auto-tune the hate and say she looks good! See, I can play nice (as I chew the tippity tips of my fingers off).
This is some "old school Courtney Love as seen through the eyes of Mimi" shit.
Japanese artist Takashi Murakami gave Brit Brit a manga makeover for Pop Magazine and here's a couple of pictures from the shoot. The frosty mess below is supposed to be a picture of Brit Brit in a wedding dress. But to me this looks more like Brit Brit begging Daddy Spears for forgiveness after she got so fucked up on strawberry-flavored acid that she ran out of her own first communion ceremony (where she was to receive the sacrament of Cheetochrist) and collapsed in a bed of daisies outside of St. Frito-Lay's Church. It works for me!
While leaving the set of Glee, where she just finished shooting a cameo in the episode devoted to her, Brit Brit gave the paparazzi a taste of her broke down busted up weave game. Oh, okay, Brit's weave doesn't totally look like it's the front-runner for the title role in a remake of Cujo, so this is a minor upgrade. But you know the ASPCA still tried to throw a net over her weave and asked the people around if they knew who its owner was.
Brit Brit's bald spot reminds me of the time my junior high school friend Ruby got jumped by a trio of wannabe cholitas because one of their boyfriends gave her a hickey on her face cheek (it was a slut badge of honor back then). When they were done with Ruby, she had a battle wound in the form of a chunk of missing hair on top of her head. Those stupid bitches straight-up ripped out a handful of Ruby's freshly dyed burgundy hair! For weeks, Ruby covered her "Bitch Got Beat" spot by wearing a high bun with two strands of hair trickling down her face (aka chola quinceañera hair). Nobody seemed to notice though, because they were too busy making fun of Ruby's hickey by saying that it looked like she tried to give head to a curling iron and failed.
So Brit Brit could easily save her weave game by wearing a high bun and giving herself a cheek hickey with a wet vac. Get on it, Brit!
Since the Department of Public Health ordered Brit Brit to cover up the crater of mangy weave hair on her head until a team of Hazmat professionals can properly tame it, she wore a hat while shopping for craft shit with her boyfriend
Sam Merlotte Jason Trawick yesterday afternoon. And by "she wore a hat" I mean that Daddy Spears superglued that shit to her head.
It looks a Marshall's swallowed every fashion magazine's Don't section from 2002 and then violently barfed up all over Brit Brit, but this is still an upgrade for her ass! I mean, she doesn't totally look like she just blew all her Scratcher winnings at a Clothestime (RIP) sidewalk sale.
This is what Tim Peeler was talking about when he said Knobby the Sasquatch had "bayootiful yallaw-ish hayer-ah." Where is a pair of runaway clippers with a strong stomach when you really need one?! There aren't many words for this, because that creature on Brit Brit's head is eating them all up. That shit looks like Chewbacca's asshole after shitting out pieces of the Yeti he just ate. The ASPCA announced that the most humane way of dealing with the tortured beast attacking Brit Brit's head is to gently put it down and cremate it. I can't.
On a positive note, at least Brit Brit doesn't ever have to worry about catching lice, because her head is the place that no living being dares to go.
"I will wish you into Brit Brit's weave!!!!" - Lice babies trying to scare the fuck out of each other.
If the original Scream mask didn't get cast in the 4th movie and was forced to downsize by moving to a Louisiana trailer park community where it got a day job as a laundromat mistress and became the surrogate mother to dozens of stray cats, it would look just like Our Lady of Cheetos in the picture above. Here's the always beautiful trailer park blossom growling and raging at the paps as she made her way through a parking lot in Calabasas, CA yesterday.
Yes, I know Brit Brit looks like she's been punching at her weave and crying over the fact that they ran out of chocolate muffins in the cafeteria at the loony bin, but there's no need to ring the 5150 alarm just yet. Brit Brit is fine. It's the paps that need to step back. I mean, look at what's in Brit Brit's paws. A FRAPP! That's like coming at a mama bear when she's with her cubs. When you see Brit Brit with her favorite baby, you stand still, keep your eyes low and don't make any sudden moves. Oh, and you also hide all your beef jerky and bottles of orange soda in the trees.