Believe it or not, but the vision before you is not a fuck effort Janice Dickinson wax figure made by an artist with arthritis-stricken hands out of melted orange candles, dried bronzer clumps and basketball leather. It’s the saint who gave birth to Britain’s true chosen child: Harvey Price!

I’m guessing that dozens of people squinted their faces into the “The fuck is that?” position when Katie Price sashayed along the red carpet at the London premiere of The Lego Movie on Sunday afternoon. In addition to her new face, Katie brought along three of her kids (Harvey, Princess Tumamatambien and Junior) and her latest husband whose name I forgot and I’m not even going to Google, because really what’s the point? Like her face, bitch is going to have a different one next week. KATIE PRICE’S FACE, though! I don’t know what she did to it this time, but if you pricked her cheek with a needle, a river of fillers would flow out and her entire body would shrivel and fall like a deflating bouncy castle that too many fat kids jumped on.

You know how you’re supposed to teach your kids to not talk to strangers? How the hell does Katie Price tell her kids that it’s okay to trust her even though she’s always got a new face on? Does she introduce her new face to her kids and then read them My Beautiful Mom again?

With all that being said, I have to slow clap for Katie for decorating her herp sores. I’ve always said that whenever you’ve got a cold sore or a wart or a hemorrhoid, cover that bitch in metallic paint, sprinkle some glitter on it and work it proudly. Work that herp sore like it’s a precious jewel, bitch. If a rat carefully chewed off Katie Price’s lip sore and dropped it in my hand, I’d totally wear it as a necklace.

Pics: Wenn.com

File this under: Obama and Beyonce fanfic written by Beyonce.

In totally real and not-at-all made up news, the French newspaper le Figaro (via Jezebel) reported this morning that there’s a good explanation for why Beyonce always beams from her face at President Obama like he’s a pile of virgin Indian hair or like he’s a picture of Beyonce: they’re fucking on each other. A French photographer named Pascal Rostain (which I’m pretty sure is French for “Michelle Williams In Need Of A Quick Check“) tells le Figaro that Beyonce is the Marilyn Monroe to Obama’s JFK and that The Washington Post is going to break this ESCANDALOSONESS tomorrow. When I ran a piece of le Figaro’s article through Google Translate (from French Bullshit into English Bullshit) this came out:

This morning, the paparazzi Pascal Rostain invited the largest direct media on Europe 1, supported this rumor by saying that the American press ( Washington Post in this case) would report tomorrow Tuesday a ” affair ” between Barack Obama and Beyoncé. “You know, at this time, the United States , there is something big that is happening ,” said he explained to micro Jean- Marc Morandini. Moreover, it will come out tomorrow in the Washington Post. We can not say that it is the gutter press, a supposed connection between President Barack Obama and Beyoncé. I can assure you that the world will talk . “

France’s Gala magazine picked up this story and added another layer of manufactured messiness to it. They also say that Beyonce is the First Side Piece of America and Obama and Michelle Obama are getting a divorce soon. Pascal Rostain continued to mouth shit out more hilariousness:

“There are [photographs and] television images of the Obamas [in which they are] a little distant. Just because it’s a rumor doesn’t mean that one should not go into the field to check. We should not forget Marilyn [Monroe] or Monica Lewinsky. You can be the president of the first world power — that doesn’t make you any less a man.”

HipHollywood points out that some hos are throwing a side-eye at this shit because of the timing. French President Francois Hollande is meeting with Obama in the US this week and he’s currently going through a scandal of his own. Hollande cheated on his girlfriend Valérie Trierweiler by passing his peen to French actress Juliet Gayet for two years.

The Washington Post has already said that they aren’t running a story about Obama having an affair with Sasha Home Wrecker.

Thank you to the French, once again, for showing hos how gossip is truly done. If you’re going to lie, lie big. Basement Baby just poured herself a second cup of lukewarm moth tea and is having the kiki of all kikis with the basement mice and her dusty Destiny’s Child dolls. This is pretty ridiculous since Beyonce thinks she’s the Queen of Every Universe and would never lower herself to the position of First Side Piece, but I still love le Figaro for giving me the image of Michelle Obama sniffing Obama’s dick for the scent of wig glue and a Maya Angelou poem.

Last night, Mac Tonight’s half-brother, Jay Leno stepped down as host of NBC’s The Tonight Show after 22 years, which is either great news if you’re a person under 40, or the worst news possible if you’re an elderly woman who’s only reason for living is to mail in wacky newspaper clippings. Personally, my preference for robot skeleton sidekicks makes me more of a Craig Ferguson person, so I could give a shit about Leno. But 22 years at any job should be celebrated, so I’ll pop a bottle of Baileys in his honor today.

Since I can kind-of remember Johnny Carson’s final episode (or maybe I’m thinking of Krusty’s comeback special from The Simpsons) it was my understanding that NBC sends you out with a bang. Instead, NBC broke with tradition and assembled a real who’s-who (no literally, who?) to sing a rendition of So Long, Farewell from The Sound Of Music led by a super realistic-looking wax figure of Billy Crystal. Included in the group of people who looked truly ashamed to be there (snaps to a defeated-sounding Jim Parsons for not shooting himself right there on the spot) was Kim Kardashian, who looked like the slutty entry in the Milwaukee Brewers 6th inning sausage race. Kim waddled out and sang (musically nasal’ed might be a better description) a tongue-in-cheek verse about how she’s the easiest of targets:

“So long, farewell, tonight I told my folks – and now, I won’t be the butt of Leno’s jokes.”

Thankfully there’s still Letterman, Jimmy Kimmel, Jimmy Fallon, Craig Ferguson, Chelsea Handler, SNL, myself, most of the internet, and the good people of Twitter who will be able to pick up where Leno left off. And Jay Leno can kick back in one of his many billion-dollars cars thanking the TV gods he doesn’t have to talk about her dumb ass anymore.

And my Say Something Nice is the following: Kim’s face is able to move more freely than I thought! Did you see when she almost opened her eyes all the way? She practically looked alive!

No, this isn’t it; this is just a picture of Justin Bieber nursing on his own bloated sense of importance. Sensing that today is the day we need more reasons to renew our subscription to Eye Bleach Monthly, TMZ has thrown their hat into the ring by releasing a picture of Justin Bieber sucking on a stripper’s plastic chichis during a party at an L.A. recording studio. The picture also shows his best Playskool Pal, Personal Pan Pizza, getting in on the action in a way that screams ‘PLEASE Photoshop out the stripper to make it look like we’re a Precious Moments figurine titled Sneakin a Kiss’.

It goes without saying that the picture is NSFW, NSFL, and NSFMTTWTT (not safe for moms trying to wean their toddlers, because they’ll get jealous and say “Hey, no fair! He still gets num-nums, and he looks like he’s almost 5!”) so it’s hidden after the jump.

Continue reading

The Butterscotch Slut strikes again! It feels like just yesterday Owen Wilson was busting a twangy nut into his piece-of-the-moment Jade Duell and then peace-ing the fuck out, and now – here we are almost exactly 3 years later – and it’s happening all over again! Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t barebacked his way to more babies; I almost got pregnant just from looking at his dick-nose (but there’s not enough room in my womb because my stomach is currently using it as storage).

Owen put his dick (you choose which one) into another woman, and E! says that this time the lucky lady is Owen’s personal trainer, Caroline Lindqvist. That’s gross, you two! The gym is nasty enough with sweaty assholes using the machines and not wiping them down after, but now I have to worry that the weight benches and yoga mats having fuck juices all over them too? Listen to me; talking like I’ve ever actually been to a gym (the Skittles on my desk just spelled out BITCH PLEASE).

Currently, we don’t know much about the baby except that Owen isn’t pursuing a relationship with the mother (which goes without saying, times a million) but all I care about is the baby’s name. Owen is from Texas and named his first baby Ford, so I hope he continues the tradition and keeps naming his kids after pickup trucks. This baby could be Dodge, the next one could be Chevy, then Sierra, Silverado, Ram, Durango, F-150, El Camino. Actually, El Camino is a hot name and sounds like it belongs to a future failed beauty queen and lead weather girl for an NBC affiliate station in Amarillo who stopped trying to hide the Taz tattoo on her left tit a loooong time ago (I think I just invented the classiest woman ever).

Between Beyoncé’s drowsy surfbort lip-synch, Macklemore’s drowsy wedding ceremony, and Madonna’s drowsy face (someone needs to start cutting her Botox with Four Loko) I assumed the televised Ambien spectacular known as The Grammy’s were going to end with thousands of blankets dropping from the ceiling of the Staples Centre and everyone taking a nap. But to the surprise of everyone still awake at home, it ended with the gif that keeps on giving: Taylor Swift pulling a Zoolander and thinking she won the Grammy for Album of the Year. When Alicia Keys (I’ll let you make your own jokes about her hair at home) announced the winner, Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories, Taylor thought she heard her own album, Red, and started to freak the fuck out like she just saw Bambi shoot his own mom and then turn the gun on himself. CHILL OUT, BITCH.

For a couple years now, Taylor’s been labouring under the delusion that if America’s Pretty Pretty Princess shows up to an awards show, they’ll HAVE to back a dump truck full of statues to her seat, so the sparkly pink plastic gears in her brain needed to work extra hard to process the idea that she didn’t win. And thanks to the internet, we have it all on video to watch over and over again. To quote Bart Simpson: “If you look closely, you can actually pinpoint the exact moment her heart breaks in two.”

And Daft Punk should probably go ahead and get in contact with Harry Styles to see when the support group meets, because we’re like 3 seconds away from another brutal Taylor Swift revenge song.

Here’s more of the real-life Taffy Sinclair at the Grammy’s before it all came crumbling down in a strawberry-scented, frosted lipstick sadness pile:

(Pics via Splash)