Finally Some Good News
As I watched this video of the alien albino cockatoo Tilda Swinton dance like my abuelita after an extra sip of communion wine at Roger Ebert's film festival in Illinois a few days ago, I read the news that all 12 gay and lesbian people in Rhode Island can get married soon! Once the bill passes in the House, every state in New England will be a gay marriage state. Marriage and misery for everybody! And now the come-to-life Air Dancer that is Tilda will lead us into the rainbow with her sweet, sweet moves. Dance Tilda can't dance no more! (No, I'm not proud of that pun.)
I just want to hump that headline and cuddle with it afterward and I never want to cuddle after. I usually just want to drink tap water out of the bathroom faucet and then go and watch Dateline re-runs in the other room, but not with this headline.
HuffPo says that in her new book The Power of Positive Drinking, comedian Cleo Rocos writes about the time in the magical 80s when she, Freddie Mercury and TV star Kenny Everett dragged Princess Diana up as a hot dude to sneak her into a gay club in London. They put her in an army jacket, sunglasses and a black cap, and snuck her into the Vauxhall Tavern in South London. Cleo writes:
"When we walked in ... we felt she was obviously Princess Diana and would be discovered at any minute. But people just seemed to blank her. She sort of disappeared. But she loved it. She did look like a beautiful young man. She was always a very fit girl, so they might have thought, 'There's a nice young man with pert buttocks.'"
That should be Disney's next cartoon movie. I really need to see a cartoon movie about a princess who escapes her life by dressing up like a twink bottom to go to gay clubs. Greenlight that shit now, Disney. But seriously, I will never forgive my parents. They should've had me decades earlier and moved to London, so that I could've gone to Vauxhall Tavern and hit on a dragged up Princess Diana. Because the next best thing to hitting on Prince Hot Ginge at a gay club is hitting on a twinkified Princess Diana at a gay club.
The U.S. is finally getting another dose of its favorite
pastime faptime sport: watching Prince Hot Ginge get dick-out naked for a game of nude ass billiards! The streets of New Jersey, NYC, Connecticut, DC and Colorado Springs will all be covered with a river of genital juices this May, because PHG is coming for a visit.
St. James Palace announced this morning that starting on May 9th, some of you lucky whores will be breathing in the air that PHG's crotch carrot exhales out. The third in line to the throne and the first in line to my b-hole will start his American tour by making an appearance at the 2013 Warrior Games in Colorado Springs. I'm going to take a Peter Pan Bus to Colorado Springs, cover my body with suction cups and stick myself to PHG. Once his royal guards pry me off, he will then make his way to New Jersey to visit the victims of Hurricane Sandy. PHG will then visit a landline clearance exhibition on Capitol Hill and he'll show up to a charity event in NYC. PHG will end his American tour at the Sentebale Polo Cup in Greenwich, Conn.
UsWeekly says that this is strictly a business trip and don't expect him to get his nipples out while drunkenly partying with some hos. PHG's press secretary said, "Prince Harry wants to highlight once again the extraordinary commitment and sacrifice of our injured servicemen and women."
PHG is coming on May 9th, which gives us a little over a month to hypnotize his piece Cressida Boners into making the biggest mistake of her life by dumping him. Then PHG will have to honor the solemn oath he drunkenly made to a random stranger in front of a club on the streets of London. He'll have to go gay. I better call the Warrior Games and ask them how much it'll cost me for them to tattoo my Grindr username on the forehead of every athlete that PHG's supposed to meet.
Here's American legend Punxsutawney Phil making the same face I made the other day at Starbucks when the lady in front of me told her friend that she drinks so much Starbucks that her poops smell like coffee. If you told me you were going to Gobbler's Knob to watch a grown man pull a hairy thing out of a hole, I'd tell you that I've never heard of that glory hole before and I'd grab my favorite knee pads while begging you to take me with you. Gobbler's Knob sounds like a street name in Gold Base, but it's actually Punxsutawney Phil's homeland!
The NYDN says that thousands jammed themselves in Gobbler's Knob early this morning to see if they can put their heating pad thong in storage early. Phil came out of his hole and didn't see his shadow, which means that spring is coming early! But you know, I wouldn't put my heating pad thong away just yet, because look at Phil's face. Phil might be phucking with you. Never trust a side eye-throwing groundhog. Or maybe Phil is throwing a side eye, because he's so over us weird ass humans and our weird ass traditions.
Happy Early Spring, everyone! And to those of us in Southern California, Florida and Hawaii, Happy Same As Always!
Christian Bale continued to spread his niceness around the other day when he called up Zach Guillot, an 8-year-old boy with leukemia, and spoke to him for 8 minutes about Batman and other stuff. Zach's family recorded the conversation and put it on his Facebook page. You'll be even more impressed with this when I tell you that during this call, Christian Bale put a PA in a headlock, drop kicked a light, wrote a 9-page "we're fucking done professionally" letter to the Director of Cinematography on his current movie, growled at his mom, told his sister to eat a bowl of dicks in sign language and then served his sister an actual bowl of dicks. Is there anything Christian Bale can't do?
My corroded vulture heart dropped out of my ass yesterday when some tricky motherfucker sent me an email with the subject: "Hot Reporter Kidnapped In Syria!" I thought The Silver Fox was getting tortured and slapped around in Syria. But it wasn't Anderson Cooper who was kidnapped, it was a different hot reporter. NBC News' chief foreign correspondent, Richard Engel, and his crew were kidnapped by unidentified captors while reporting in Syria five days ago. The media found out about the story early on, but were asked by NBC to keep their fat mouths shut while Jessica Chastain and Anna Faris' husband looked for them. Yesterday, several media outlets broke the blackout and reported the story, but thankfully this one has a happy-ish ending.
Richard and his team were all freed yesterday after a firefight between rebels and their captors. Richard and his crew told their story on Today this morning. Richard said that while reporting in Syria, 15 masked gunmen grabbed them, blindfolded them and tied them up. For the next few days, they weren't allowed to talk and were subjected to mock executions. They were also moved from location to location and put through psychological torture. Their captors kept asking them which one of them wanted to die first. Shit was looking bleak until their captors came across a rebel checkpoint and a gun fight went down. Two of their captors were killed in the battle and the rebels took them. After spending a night with the rebels, they were taken to Turkey.
Richard thinks that his kidnappers were from a pro-Assad group and were planning to trade them for Iranian agents. Richard and his crew are okay and his immaculate hair wave was left unharmed. Richard's hair brings back memories of rolling my bangs with a roll brush in the bathroom mirror before drenching it with White Rain hairspray. I got up a half-hour early just to get hair like that.
Here's Richard and his colleagues talking about their traumatic experience. In the NBC movie based on their ordeal, they will be played by Jeremy Piven, Dylan Walsh and Olivia Newton-John's ex-boyfriend (the one who faked his death).
When Taylor Swift announced that Papa John's and Chegg were sponsoring a contest on Facebook for any school to win $10,000 for their music department and a performance from her, the fuckery makers at 4Chan and Reddit trolled her hard by voting for The Horace Mann School for the Deaf in Allston, Massachusetts. The Horace Mann School got thousands upon thousands of votes and it was looking like the kids were going to feel their ears tingle and sting as Taylor Swift yodeled out her signature Kennedy mating call in the lunch room. The headmaster of the school said at the time that his students love music and he hopes they win the contest. Well, guess what? They were disqualified!
Boston.com says that Taylor, Papa John's and Chegg all decided to take Horace Mann out of the running because of the way the school got their votes. But the Illuminati didn't send Taylor Swift a "welcome to the dark side" gift basket for making deaf children cry, because she donated $10,000 of her own money to The Horace Mann School. Cover Girl, American Greetings and the contest's two sponsors also donated $10,000 each, so the school is getting a total of $50,000. Each student will also get tickets to Taylor's show the next time she performs near their town.
The internet's trolling pays off again. Everybody wins. Taylor wins, because she looks like a damn saint. And the kids really win, because their school got $50,000, they don't have to sit through a Taylor Swift show in their cafeteria and they got tickets they can sell on Craigslist.
I know putting your eyeballs on that picture has made your nipples do THIS, but please stick some nipple muzzles over them, because there's more important things to deal with.
The makers of acid leopard print Spandex didn't think it was possible to go on with life after Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling got canceled in the early 90s and now they really won't think it's possible to go on with life, because LMFAO is TABSF (Taking A Break Sad Face). 37-year-old Redfoo and his partner in ear-killing/nephew SkyBlu have pressed pause on the party rocking to do their own thing. Uncle Redfoo said these words to the Associated Press (via Rolling Stone) which you'll show to your boss after they ask you why you're dancing topless in your cubicle while taking swigs from a bottle of tequila you keep your drawer for beautiful news like this!
"I feel like we've been doing this for so long, five or six years. And we're kind of like saying, well, let's just do what's natural and just kind of explore that, instead of like forcing it all the time. I think that we naturally just started hanging with two different sets of people, two different crowds, but we're always family. He'll always be my nephew, I'll always be his uncle."
All the music that I'm going to make is always going to be LMFAO-ish ... I love all the topics that we talk about. I was really passionate about bringing party music to the world, so I will always be making some kind of party music."
What the hell kind of topics are they talking about? Partying, being sexy, partying, being sexy, partying and being sexy? I like those topics too, but I only like them when these two Fraggle Rock refugees don't talk about them. It's also hard for me to wrap whatever is left of my brain around the fact that they're uncle and nephew? If one of my uncles and I started a musical group, it would be him drunkenly making inappropriate and semi-racist comments in Spanish while I tapped my finger against an empty Corona bottle.
You know and I just realized, that instead of being one strain of ear influenza, they've split into two strains! This is the sequel to Contagion, right?
Instead of taking my Prego jar full of loose coins (I call them loose coins, not because I found them in my pockets, but because they're really slutty) to Coinstar this weekend, I took it directly to Barney's and emptied it into the crystal Suri Cruise Foundation bowl next to each cash register. Because Suri Cruise is only getting $33,000 a month from Tommy Girl and so she needed our help more than ever or she would've been forced to wear the same pair of Jimmy Choos twice in one week. But everything has changed, because Katie Holmes has millions of dollars worth of jewels and handbags she can pawn off to keep Suri's feet slathered in luxury.
Radar says that every time Tommy bought himself a canary diamond-encrusted butt dildo, he bought Katie a piece of jewelry, so she has a ton of expensive pieces. Even though Katie didn't get a pile of money in her divorce settlement, Tommy let her keep all of the jewelry he gave her like a solid gold ball gag, platinum handcuffs, a pure onyx ball with chain and a cashmere computer cover that he'd put over her head at night so dust wouldn't get into her ears and screw up her internal hard drive. The source type put it like this:
"Tom was extremely generous to Katie with lavish gifts during their marriage and she will be keeping millions of dollars of jewelry, Hermes handbags and other luxurious items. Tom gave Katie diamond earrings as a birthday gift one year that easily cost over $500k and he had custom design pieces made for her. Under terms of the divorce, Katie is keeping all of the jewelry, handbags, accessories, and designer clothing. What she does with it is up to her. For the time being, the jewels are being kept in a very safe place and knowing Katie, it's likely she will one day give them to Suri once she is old enough.
Katie was never with Tom for the money. When it came time for the divorce, she just wanted it to be done quickly and with as little disruption to Suri's life as possible. Suri has always been Katie's number one priority and concern. During the divorce settlement talks Katie just wanted to make sure that she and her daughter would be taken care of from a financial standpoint."
Give them to Suri? Like Suri wants to wear used shit.
Tommy put a tracking device in every single one of those pieces of jewelry, so Katie should pawn half of them and then she should invite Lindsay Lohan over, so that crackburglar can steal the other half by shoving all those jewels up her cooch. Let those tracking devices lead Tommy straight up into LiLo's chocha. If that doesn't destroy him, I don't know what will.
And everything is right in the world. Suri is rich again and Katie has once again realized that her daughter is much too delicate to walk on the same ground that mortal peons walk on. Suri should ALWAYS be looking down at the world.
Seen here giving us Johnny Appleseed glamour realness last year, Robin Gibb slipped into a coma more than a week ago and his doctors basically said it was only a matter of time before Justin Timberlake would be giving the eulogy at Robin Gibb's memorial as Robin Gibb. But now everybody can exhale while hollerin' out the chorus from Emotion, because he woke up yesterday. Robin is completely awake and already talking. It's a 4/20 (a day late, because stoners are slow when it comes to all things including praying for Robin Gibb to wake up) miracle! I'll let you use the "Stayin' Alive" joke you've been working on for this very occasion.
Robin was diagnosed with liver and colon cancer late last year, but it's currently in remission. Robin fell into a coma while battling a case of pneumonia. Robin's doctors released this statement to People yesterday:
"Robin is fully conscious, lucid and able to speak to his loved ones. He is breathing on his own, with an oxygen mask. He is on intravenous feeding and antibiotics. He is of course, exhausted, extremely weak and malnourished."
Robin's doctors went on to say that his wife Dwina, his brother Barry and other family members have been singing to him and playing his favorite music while he was in a coma. Robin's doctors also added that the first thing he said after he woke up was, "Okay, all y'all bitches can shut the hell up now." Yeah, Robin has a southern accent now. It happens.