Oh, the 1960s were a simpler time when NASA used LSD to get dolphins to speak English and researchers regularly jerked dolphin leche out of dolphins. Dolphins getting hand jobs and free LSD? What Charlie Sheen wouldn’t give to be a dolphin in the 60s.

In the BBC documentary “The Girl Who Talked To Dolphins” (more like “The Girl Who Jacked Off Flipper’s Relatives“), former NASA researcher Margaret Howe Lovatt talks about how in the 1960s she was a part of some experiment where dolphins were sometimes shot up with LSD to learn how to speak to humans. Margaret got close to a dolphin named Peter and she got real close to Peter’s peter. Peter was a horny teenage trick and would always rub himself on Margaret’s body. After a while, Margaret just went with it and helped that horny dolphin get off and that may or may not have involved dirty dolphin talk (example: “eeeee eeeee ee eee eee ee eeee”). via the NYDN (via Gawker)

“Peter liked to be … with me. He would rub himself on my knee, my foot or my hand and I allowed that. I wasn’t uncomfortable — as long as it wasn’t too rough. It was just easier to incorporate that and let it happen, it was very precious and very gentle, Peter was right there, he knew that I was right there. It would just become part of what was going on, like an itch, just get rid of that scratch and we would be done and move on.”

She’s not right for comparing it to an itch, because when I get an itch and scratch it, I don’t end up with a handful of dolphin jizz. But thank you, BBC, for letting me know that dolphins are getting more action than me.

I wonder if at any point Margaret looked at Horny Peter’s open-mouthed, excited dolphin face as he humped her thigh the same way Justin Bieber humps the thigh of a trick when he can’t find her coochie and thought to herself, “I work for NASA and I am a humanized dolphin hump toy. I am living the dream.” And somewhere Pimp Mama Kris is thinking to herself, “Pfft! Big deal! My girls once sucked off all the Dolphins and you don’t see them starring in a BBC documentary about it. Hmmm, that gives me an idea.”

Here’s the clip of Margaret remembering the time a dolphin humped her.

Since we’re on the subject of serious science stuff, does anyone know where I can go to remove the part of my brain that thought it was a good idea to Google “dolphin porn” for this highly important story?

Most of you aren’t even SLYCIC (copyright: God Warrior, never 4get), but I’m sure that for years you’ve been sensing a strong feeling that the Long Island Medium is full of bullshit. Your senses might be right. Author and investigator Ron Tebo has testimonies and stories from some of her followers and people she works with that proves that she’s nothing but a shameless, greedy, charlatan who makes money from swindling grieving people. Ron says that the Long Island Medium couldn’t sense a spirit if one wet farted up her nostril.

Ron tells Radar that he’s got Theresa Caputo’s number and for over a year he’s been investigating her shady act. Ron talked to Theresa’s associates and clients and learned that she uses old timey cold reading techniques and background checks to fool people. According to Ron, the mash-up of Jennifer Aniston, the Bride of Frankenstein and Kate Gosselin’s old possum hair is pretty much a professional guesser and trickster. She studies somebody’s body language and clothes and asks them vague ass questions like, “Did a living thing in your life die sometime after you were born?” Ron also believes that Theresa runs background checks on some of the audience members of her show. Theresa’s partners in trickery get the names, phone numbers and addresses of audience members from Ticketmaster. When she gets that info, her people run background checks and find out as much info as they can. Apparently, Theresa focuses a lot on the people in the front row.

Ron says that Theresa only shows accurate readings on her TV show, but he talked to some people who went to her show and weren’t impressed.

“She seemed off and almost every reading was like pulling teeth to match up info. She was really grasping at straws and did a lot of ‘fishing,’” one disappointed audience member at the April 5 reading recently complained to Ticketmaster.com. “For the most part, readings were forced and uninspired.”

“Some [readings] were just off the mark,” said another ticket-buyer at a New Orleans show in November.

An audience member recalled to Ticketmaster in her grievance. “Teresa spent the entire time on the first floor. I was a Theresa Caputo believer and watched every one of her shows,” the former fan continues. “My young daughter died this summer and I needed to believe in something. After tonight, I am no longer a believer. There were many grieving people there, hoping for closure, or a sign from their loved ones and 2,490 people left defeated and deflated.”

One of Theresa Caputo’s employees told Radar that even if she is faking it, it doesn’t matter, because she’s bringing people closure (while taking their cash).

I am shocked, appalled and filled with disgust (but that could be from the cabbage juice my mom told me to drink to fix this acid reflux mess)! How dare the Long Island Medium give ghost whisperers out there a bad name. How dare she shit all over the pristine legacy left by consummate medium Sylvia Browne! If the Long Island Medium really could contact spirits, Sylvia Browne would slap her (read: give her a high five) from beyond the grave.

And you should never ever trust a woman whose regular daytime nails don’t even look remotely human.

Those of you who have your pitchforks out in front of America’s bravest war hero Goopy Paltrow’s house for saying that reading mean comments about her on the Internet is like being a war, there’s been a change of plans. Type “from Goopy’s house to Charlize’s house” into your GPS and take your pitchforks to Charlize Theron’s house!

During an interview for A Million Ways To Die In The West with Sky News, the interviewer kind of set Charlize up when he said that he Googled her name before their interview and most of the stories that came up were about her personal life and not about her career. The interviewer said that the headlines felt “intrusive” to him. Charlize took the bait and ran with it and said that reading gossip about herself makes her feel like she’s been raped. Oh, Charlize, you gorgeous brain dead dumb fuck, take it away:

“I don’t [Google myself], so that’s my saving grace. I think it’s when you start living in that world and doing that, that you start, I guess, feeling raped. Well, you know, when it comes to your son and your private life, maybe that’s just me. Some people might relish in all of that stuff, but there are certain things in my life that I think of as very sacred and I’m very protective over them. That doesn’t mean that I always win that war, but as long as I don’t have to see that stuff or read that stuff or hear that stuff, then I can live with my head in a clear space. It’s probably a lot healthier than living in that little dark room.”

And she also compared gossip to WAR. BURN HER AT THE STAKE!

Publicists should really tell their clients that to be safe, if they’ve never been raped, they shouldn’t compare their stuff to being raped. If they’ve never been in the holocaust, they shouldn’t compare their stuff to the holocaust. If they’ve never been in a war, they shouldn’t compare their stuff to being in a war. It’s easy. We all would’ve said, “aaaah, that makes sense,” if Charlize said that reading gossip about herself online is a lot like boning Sean Penn while sober during the daylight hours. It makes you feel sad and gross inside.

And Charlize, Goopy Paltrow, Johnny Depp and Kristen Stewart should really start a support group. #YesAllCelebrities

Here’s Charlize, her son and the Sean Penn (working the hobo Alfalfa look) at LAX last night.

Pics: Splash, Wenn.com

If you ever wished someone would combine the harrowing courtroom custody battle from Kramer vs. Kramer with the over-the-top drama school theatrics of a Real Housewives reunion show and just a pinch of Michael Jackson face, then I have good news for you! Bethenny Frankel, former RHONY cast member, former talk show host, and former praying mantis (needs verification) is currently fighting with her ex-husband Jason Hoppy over the custody of their 4-year-old daughter Bryn, and Us Weekly says that Bethenny is putting on a performance worthy of a Daytime Emmy with her testimony against her ex. For your consideration...

Bethenny brings the Lifetime made-for-TV movie drama:
“Jason said to me, ‘Get ready, we are going to war. It’s over. We’re done.” He would hold Bryn, and he would say, ‘You’re finished, you’re done. I’m going to ruin you.'”

Bethenny brings the classic afternoon telenovela drama:
“He said, ‘You’re dead to me. I want nothing to do with you. You think I want to be with you on the holidays? You’re a piece of shit. You’re garbage. You have no idea what I’ve got on you.”

Bethenny brings the Disney Channel drama:
“He would say, ‘Mommy should be Ursula the witch. She’s a great witch.  You be the princess, I’ll be the prince, Mommy will be the witch.”

Bethenny bring some sort of A&E’s Hoarders-themed drama:
“He would leave the house in shambles. There would be dishes everywhere. He would pee and poop and leave it in the toilets.”

I understand wanting to come for a trifling hoe in a court of law, but damn, this custody fight is getting messy. I’m not a parent, but it was my understanding that as long as you gave them clean clothes, food, hugs, snuggles, and teach them shapes and shit, you’re doing an a-ok job raising your kid. As it turns out, floating a bootycake in the toilet bowl is grounds for losing custody of your child.

And I hope the first thing the judge did after hearing Bethenny’s testimony was politely inform her that being compared to Ursula is a compliment, not an insult.

Pic: Splash

And now we know that Jay-Z’s got 99 problems and Basement Baby is all of them.

TMZ posted an ESCANDALO video of Basement Baby re-enacting the Tina Turner limo scene from What’s Love Got To Do With It? in an elevator at The Standard Hotel in NYC after the Met Gala last week. A millisecond after Beyonce, Jay-Z and Basement Baby get into the elevator, BB burns Beyonce’s weave glue by kicking, punching and losing her mind on Jay-Z. I  know, it’s weird seeing a woman whoop Jay-Z’s ass for a change. A big ass bodyguard tries to hold Basement Baby back, but when he you take Basement Baby out of the basement she goes nuts and he can’t control her ass. Meanwhile, BeyonceBot just stands there like, “I’m not about to fuck up my makeup, nails, dress and weave over this shit.” Jay-Z must’ve turned her off before they got into the elevator, because bitch barely blinks while her sister goes full “Sharon Stone in Casino” on Jay-Z’s ass.

TMZ also points out that the bodyguard hits the emergency break so the doors won’t open up and give everyone a Basement Baby Beat Down Show. TMZ doesn’t say what went down, but I’m guessing Jay-Z told her she looked like a Fraggle Rock Diana Ross.

Surprisingly, BeyonceBot didn’t hit the basement button on the elevator and tell Basement Baby, “This is your stop.” They all came out of the hotel together and while BeyonceBot put on a manufactured fake ass smile while getting into a car with Jay-Z, Basement Baby had the look of rage in her eyes as she got into a different car. This is what happens when Basement Baby leaves the basement and I love it.

But seriously, Basement Baby, you in danger, girl. The Beygency and Illuminati’s coming for you. I fully expect Beyonce to release a statement saying that Basement Baby has checked into the basement of Promises Malibu to deal with rage issues caused by freebasing moth balls. Jay-Z will issue his own statement saying that he’s glad he could help Basement Baby get her first hit in years.

UPDATE: TMZ has an extended cut version, because of course they do. Three full minutes of THE RAGE OF BASEMENT BABY including her shit flying everywhere when she throws her purse at him. There goes her allowance for the month.

All together now, “Hate in an elevator, livin’ it up while Jay-Z’s doing down!”

Pics: Splash

My ass lips are frozen and I think I’ve got hypothermia of the nipples, and it’s not because I made peen popsicles and overused them again. It’s because I’m in Denver where it currently looks like scenes from Nicole Kidman’s colonoscopy. Yes, I’m in Denver to cross off “pose in front of the Denver Carrington building from the Dynasty opening credits while wearing a power blazer with shoulder pads” off of my bucket list, but I’m also in Denver for a family thing and to spend as much time as possible at the most authentic and finest gourmet Mexican eatery Casa Bonita. Casa Bonita is this refined and elegant Mexican establishment in Lakewood, CO that is known for their ~SPECTACULAR~ diving show, signature sopapillas and food that probably tastes like Del Taco threw up on a pile of Taco Bell’s shit. In other words: Delicious! South Park paid tribute to Denver’s greatest attraction in 2003. This review from Yelp sold me on the fact that I must eat all my meals at Casa Bonita while I’m here.

Quite possibly the most revolting, repugnant, repulsive food in the history of the universe.

If you must go because your kids are bothering you to take them, do so while observing the following rules:

1. Do not — UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, including abject starvation — order anything with meat in it it.

2. Eat before you go there. You have to order food in order to stay, so get the cheapest thing on the menu, then play with the food and encourage your children to do the same.

3. The sopapillas are edible. This is not to say they’re good; no one said anything about good. The people who claim the sopapillas are good only say that because they are comparing them to the rest of the offerings. Compared to the rest of the food, the fetid stench of a deceased homeless man’s intestines would be appetizing.

4. Don’t go. Just stay home, eat Taco Bell, watch replays of Olympic diving, go to the bathroom several times afterward. That will give you the authentic Casa Bonita experience.

So since I’ll be spending most of my half-vacation in Denver dining at Casa Bonita and butt barfing my insides out on the toilet, I’ll only be posting a little and CAPTION THIS is taking a break. My partner in fuckery Allison will cover most of the foolery until I thaw out my b-hole when I get back to California on Wednesday.

And now, I leave you with pictures of ScarJo giving us pregnant face, corpse makeup and busted bandage shoes from the 90s while leaving the fancy British wedding of Princess Florence Von Preussen with her fiance Romain Dauriac who looks like Josh Harnett as Mason Verger.

Pics: Splash