Crazy

The Beliebers are sharpening their rattles into shanks, asking their parents to get them a PlaySkool gat for Christmas and turning grade school poems into adorable death threats, because one of their own has gone rogue by claiming that Justin Bieber knocked her up during 30-second not-so-sexy times in a backstage bathroom at one of his concerts. Buzzfeed put together the best death threat Tweets made by a bunch of Beliebers who really need a chancleta-wielding abuelita in their lives. Reading those Tweets is the best birth control, because who wants their child to join these baby-worshiping crazies as the future of humanity? My parts don't even make ovaries and I'm about to shove an old school Depo Provera syringe up my asshole just in case. Moving on....

I guess Mariah Yeater's 3-month-old son doesn't have a Hasbro tag sticking out of his big toe and a preliminary DNA test could not confirm or deny that he's half teddy bear, because her lawyers still want Justin Bieber to submit a sample. Lawyers for the 20-year-old crazy ho (seen in a bathroom and bedroom photo shoot below) tell Radar that they have every reason to believe that The Lesbeaver is the father of her child and the only way to prove this is with DNA. Justin's lawyers deny that he ever even met her and he's filing his own lawsuit against her for defamation. But Mariah's pepaw, Eddie Markhouse, tells The NYDN that his granddaughter only does underage yodeling fetuses and she does not do lie-telling.

“I don’t know the whole story. But, from what I understood, she met him at a concert and he sent two security guards down off of the stage to bring her backstage to meet him. She said they partied, had some drinks and they indulged in sex … She’s basically an honest good person. She’s got a big heart. She’s a good kid and she loves this baby.”

Oh, I believe that Mariah feels nothing but love for her baby. If I had a child that I loved, I'd want to tell him that he was made when a drunk superstar toddler humped on me for half a minute in the dirty stall of some bathroom. Then I'd tell my baby that I didn't sue his father for the money. I did it for the legal right to use his last name on the birth certificate. I mean, if Justin is the father, then Mariah's baby's last name will be: Yeater-Bieber. YEATER FUCKING BIEBER! Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner for the best hyphenated last name ever. Think about it. Grab your tongue and say Yeater-Bieber really fast. EAT. HER. BEAVER.

You are definitely not a loving and caring mother if you keep your child from having a last name like that.

If your type of man is a leaning tower of crazy who would come in second place in a karate match against the air and who can grow a furry light brown piece of dog turn from his chin like no other, then put your hand under your butt and fart out that four leaf clover, because it's your lucky day. Weston Cage, the 20-year-old son of Nicolas Cage, filed for divorce from the woman he allegedly got violent on during a drunken fight last July. E! News says that Weston and Nikki Williams Cage were married for 6 months. That's pretty much FOREVER in Kardashian time.

The World of Warcraft Britney isn't wasting MAC liquid eyeliner by crying it out onto his face cheeks. Weston is doing what his insanesei Nicolas Cage taught him to do. He's putting on some pussy-catching eyeliner, slapping a new layer of polish on his nails and karate kicking his way to the ladies. Weston put himself back on the market with this note on Facebook:

WELL ITS OFFICAL . THE DIVORCE IS SETTLED! ..................LADIES, DADDY IS BACK ahahahhahahaahh oh god! its on

"Ahahahhahahaahh oh god!" is the same thing Weston's new piece is going to say to herself when he makes her call him daddy right before the babysitter his father hired knocks on the door to make sure they're both on top of the covers.

NO! Madge wishes! This is the ghost of Lindsay Lohan's future (LiLo wishes!) Courtney Love scarring and scaring the students at Trinity College as she graciously accepts an honorary patronage of the pharmaceutical society (the photo agency tagged it as the "philosophical society" for some weird reason) in Dublin tonight.

The air in the theater was thick with crazy and queefs that contained an undertone scent of metal, and one member of the audience remembered to return his Planet Earth DVDs when he watched Courtney stumble across the stage like an albino otter with mange trying to swallow a catfish head whole. But believe or not, nobody ran out of the theater screaming for their Jesus, because Courtney gave them everything.

In this picture, Courtney showed the audience what most sober people do when they come across her in the wild in broad daylight. In this picture, Courtney is telling everyone to sit very still and not move, because she thinks she saw a coke granule float into the room on a sliver of wind. In this picture, Courtney forgot that she was in a room full of people and did some sucio shit that took 5 Catholic priests and a gallon of whiskey to cleanse off of the stage floor. In this picture, Courtney passed out again while standing up as her nose punctured a new hole in itself for air. Finally, in this picture, Courtney's complex thoughts became too much for her brain to take and she could feel it trying to slip out through her nostril holes. She can feel it! Can't you see it? She can feel it!

What I'm trying to say is that this fucked up bitch gave everyone a whore de force performance! This looks like a corner crackie performing a one whore version of The Birds for the hobos in the park. Courtney is playing Tippi AND the birds. The audience better have stood up and did what the free clinic doctor does after Courtney asks why her coochie looks like that: CLAPPED! Because Court gave them a show! Court also gave them nightmares to take them through the new year, which is why she was kind enough to sell them all sleeping pills she smuggled in from England. Courtney is a one woman EVERYTHING!

One of the most magical things to come out of Tim Burton's Batman movies is when Sean Young, who lost out on the role of Vicki Vale in the first movie after she fell off of a horse, begged Warner Bros. to let her audition for the role of Catwoman. Warner Bros. did the horizontal head shake. So since dignity has never been a friend of Sean Young, she sprinkled fuckery dust all over her body, slipped on a homemade Catwoman suit and went on The Joan Rivers Show to purr plead to Warner Bros. to let her have the role. As Michelle Pfeiffer will tell you, meow didn't work.

Cut to a million years later and Sean is still purging up that act of crazy desperation in interviews and she brought it up again while promoting absolutely nothing on The Late Show last night. While fidgeting like a Lohan during a cavity search, Sean, who is fresh out of rehab, told Dave that she really needs a job and then she played a skit she made on a street corner of her in a Catwoman suit, screaming that she's not crazy. If there's one thing that makes you look certifiable, it's a video of you screaming that you're not crazy while wearing a bootleg Catwoman suit that makes you look like a farting tire.

With that being said, I'd still rather Sean Young play Catwoman than Anne Hathaway. It's that serious.

via The Wrap

The other day, The Superficial posted a gallery of pictures of Lindsay Lohan looking like the pristine dandelion she is while doing not-at-all shady crack ho shit with hotelier Vikram Chatwal in front of his apartment window. It's the kind of mess you'd see if you pointed your telescope at the Crackieopeia constellation up in the night sky. Blohan's spokeswhore said that she's just friendly with Vikram and nothing romantic is going on. He's right. The last time I did a line off the top of a multimillionaire's dick while licking his peen's undercarriage just so he can get me into a fashion party, "romantic" is not the word that shot onto my tongue.

Howfuckingever, Page Six says that LiLo was acting like she's more than just friends with Vikram when she came at his estranged wife Priya Sachdev at his NYC hotel on Wednesday night. Oh, to be a fat scabie on LiLo's scalp sludge when she got in Priya's face. A witness tells Page Six all about how LiLo went into a rage like a homeless junkie protecting her spot in the ATM vestibule:

“Lindsay had been staying at Vikram’s house and even installed her hairdresser in the baby’s room, but was told to leave before his wife arrived from India with the child a few days ago. His father, Sant Singh, has tried to order Lindsay out numerous times.

Lindsay found out Vikram was hosting a dinner at the Dream, and turned up with a friend at the hotel’s Electric Room, waiting for him. That’s when the trouble started. Priya was very dignified, but Lindsay was so rude. She acted as if she’d had no idea Vikram was married, and tried to make it clear that Vikram was her friend. Others had to step in to calm things down.

Vikram’s family worry that Lindsay is bad news and want him to stay away from her.”

In the wise words of Pastoress Khia: YAAAAAAAASSSSSS!!!!! The shifty vodka landslide of coked up stupidity is FINALLY speaking my language.

LiLo couldn't get hired as an off-camera fluffer in a bare bones budget porn parody of her life, so I've been saying all along that it's time for her to trade in her coke shovel for a gold digging shovel. LiLo is allergic to working and has several nostrils to feed at home, so switching careers from "piece of party-ruining trash" to premiere gold digger is just a good move. Yes, Vikram will never divorce the mother of his child to marry a trick who looks like Gollum meets the Slumdog Millionaire outhouse bath scene, but you can't blame a ho for trying! I'm rooting for her!

And I love that LiLo put her "hairdresser" in the baby's room. "Why does this strange rattle look like a plastic bag full of opiates?" is a line the nanny definitely said sometime this week.

Crazy is victorious today! Starting right now, the L.A. Lakers forward and Dancing For Relevancy contestant will hear "Mr. World Peace, your Thorazine prescription is ready" at the Rite Aid pharmacy, because a judge in L.A. approved his name change from Ron Artest to Metta World Peace. I've already said my peace (sorry) about Metta World Peace, so I'm just going to do the topless Lambada with an orange and be thankful that our asses are living in a time when the court approves ideas co-created by an insane motherfucker (I mean, an insane mettafucker) and the ganja pipe. Oh, what a wonderful world.

The L.A. Times also says that the fuckery doesn't fall far from the fuckery tree, because Metta's 8-year-old daughter Diamond wants to take his new last name. So, she'll be Diamond World Peace. I guess Diamond thinks that having the name of a pole dancer at a UNICEF strip club is a good way to go through life.

And even though Metta World Peace probably talks about constellations and shit while hitting it from the back, I still would.

During a press conference at the Toronto International Film Festival for his home invasion movie Trespass (Side note: They should make a Spanish homo invasion threesome porn called Tres Ass), legendary crazy bitch Nicolas Cage spewed out more insane crazy in the form of a story bout how many years ago somebody broke into his house. Surprisingly, it wasn't the repo man coming to take away the Italian Armor Sculpture he bought on Sky Mall. Nicolas says that it was a naked dude in a leather jacket nibbling on a Fudgesicle. Hey, that's the opening scene of my Spanish gay porn Tres Ass! The craziness directly from the crazy's mouth (via Reuters):

"It was two in the morning. I was living in Orange County at the time and was asleep with my wife. My two-year old at the time was in another room. I opened my eyes and there was a naked man wearing my leather jacket eating a Fudgesicle in front of my bed," he told reporters on Wednesday.

I know it sounds funny ... but it was horrifying."

Nicolas said that he was able to talk the nekkid biker Fudgesicle-sucker out of his house before he called the police. Crazy Old Nick never pressed charges, because he says the man had mental problems. Yes, the Fudgesicle-sucker sounds crazier than a Lohanhouse rat, but if you're in a house with Nicolas Cage, you'll never be the craziest bitch in the house. Truth.

You know, if this story came from anybody else whose brain isn't completely marinated in crazy sauce, I'd say they mixed their shrooms with bathtub acid again and forgot that the dude in the leather jacket was actually a leather top they met in the Yahoo chat rooms who quickly taught them that it's not a good idea to drink coffee and eat mushy pears before butt sex. But since this is Nicolas Cage we're talking about, it was totally just a dick flasher eating a Fudgesicle. Or Nicolas woke up in his mirrored room again.

The glorious Canadian silicone leaf that is Pamela Anderson is no stranger to staring crazy dead in its crazy face and has felt the fear of one of her crazed fans trying to get close to her skinny Loch Ness Monster brows and her perfectly applied lip liner. Pam felt the fear earlier this year (THAT RHYMES!) when an insane stalker tried to get on her train (not that kind of train) but was quickly tackled by her security and thrown into one of PETA's cages. That crazed loon hasn't been heard from since and we should all just assume he was turned into a box of PETA Nuggets.

But crazy came back into Pamela's life recently when a fan of the loontardian variety lived out the classic children's story Crazylocks and the Old Whore by breaking into her house to sit in her chair, eat her porridge, sleep in her bed and even try on one of her Baywatch bathing suits. You know you're a nut bag bitch when you willingly press your bare vagina against a crotch patch in one of Pam's bathing suits without holding a syringe full of extra-strength antibiotics in one hand.

Pam tells Britain's OK! Magazine (via Starpulse) about her in-house stalker and lets hos know that you should periodically throw a smoke bomb into the vacant rooms of your house just in case a crazy is living in the closet:

"One (fan) snuck into my house, sliced their wrists and...ate all my bread. It's terrible but I'm serious! When the police took her, she was even wearing one of my Baywatch bathing suits. It was very scary, actually.

I was in my house with my children, alone, and this woman had gotten in and was there for a few days!... I kept noticing my bread going missing and that my jean jacket disappeared. But I was like: 'I'm going crazy because I have two babies, I'm forgetting everything.'

But this woman had been staying in the guest room for days. When the police came, she slit her wrists!... She didn't die. She just got deported."

Wait. An obsessive Pamela Anderson fan who is crazy enough to instill fear into the woman who conquered and tamed Tommy Lee's anaconda dick? That could only be one teenage porn iguana:

Deported my ass. Ruuuuuuun (and not that slow motion Baywatch run either), Pamela, ruuuuuuuuun!

Just when you thought Lindsay Lohan was already lying at the bottom of a mountain of pathetic desperation, the moronic duffel bag of clearance bin coke grabs a shovel and digs even further.

While watching Chris Brown beat the stage at the VMAs, Blohan felt the urge to subtlety purge about her horniness for Urkel Turner by blowing him a Twatter wink:

@ChrisBrown killed it. #MTVVMAs

@chrisbrown wanna meet?

All the used kitty litter Blohan snorts when she can't afford an 8-ball has eaten every bit of dignity she had left, because bitch doesn't even give a fuck anymore. Yes, most of us scream our faces off about how this dumb fuck needs to get some sense beaten into her, but I don't think this is what we had in mind. Speaking of that, Blohan is going to be extremely disappointed when she finds out that the kind of fisting she gets into is not the same kind of fisting Chris Brown gets into.

Anybody who has seen Paula Abdul's masterpiece of a trainwreck reality show knows that she's a sane and level-headed employer who treats all of her assistants with the utmost respect and would never make unreasonable demands. Since it's Opposite Day, what I really mean by that is Paula is Forever Your Crazy Bitch and working for her is probably not unlike babysitting a psychotic toddler who has never been spanked and will only go into its calm submissive state if you stick a pacifier made of Vicodin in its mouth. I bet if you walked into any padded room and asked who has worked for Paula Abdul, the one patient in there would stop chewing on a pillow tile to raise her hand a dozen times (one for each personality that was created to deal with Paula's crazy ass).

UsWeekly says that Skat Kat's former beard (Skat Kat, totally gay, totally loved the Q-Tip in his no-no) gives all of her assistants this list of demands they must follow or she'll feed them to Simon Cowell's tits.

1. Each assistant must carry and use a tape recorder at all times "because she doesn't trust her own conversations," the source says.

2. "She also makes them check the TiVo for any mention of her and put it on a DVD."

3. Abdul team members should also prepare to go through her email -- and respond to family and friends as the star herself.

4. The "Forever Your Girl" singer also needed constant reminders that she is a "warrior, survivor and gift," adds the insider.

Okay, these aren't that weird. The second one isn't weird at all. The third one is easy since her assistant only has to respond with "please send percocets now" and her family knows she's doing fine. The first one makes sense, because Paula never knows which voice in her head controlled her mouth that day. Sybil wishes she would've thought of that! The fourth one is true in every way. Paula is a gift (to the pharmaceutical industry, The Soup and me), is a survivor (going through an 8-hour period with just one syringe of liquid morphine counts as surviving) and she's definitely a warrior! Don't you remember the battle of the Bratz (which she lost) or her never-ending battle against sanity (which she wins every time). Paula IS a warrior, survivor and a gift!

With all that being said, I'd rather get a job as that dog's full-time anal gland pincher than work for Paula's ass.