The wine tumblers of romantics everywhere overflowed with the tears of angel kittens when the news broke last week that everybody’s favorite couple, Dough (typo stays) Hutchinson and Courtney Stodden were ending their marriage. After two years, countless barf-inducing appearances and Courtney’s morph into a future Caption This Contest photo, she pulled the marital butt plug, reportedly leaving Dough (I swear, I’m not doing it on purpose) heartbroken.

Radar is forcefully breathing life into the two people on the planet who give two shits or a piss if these crazy kids make it work, saying the two were seen at Hollywood’s Musso & Frank’s Thursday night, a move not at all orchestrated for publicity.

“Courtney and Doug were all over each other at the restaurant, acting like they always did when they were together,” an eyewitness exclusively told Radar.

“Doug told people in the restaurant that he and Courtney were back together and working it out.”

According to the eyewitness, Stodden and Hutchison remained cuddled up their booth all night, but didn’t hesitate to talk and take photos with fans who noticed their presence.

“They were hot and heavy in that booth!” the source said.

“It’s obvious how much Doug wants to be with Courtney, and I’m not sure if it’s completely reciprocated…but I think she’ll stay with him for the time being because she can’t get enough of the attention they get as a couple.”

This hit me right in the feels. Nothing says love quite like letting some old, greasy dude paw you while you look around to see who’s watching, right? This is right up there with Romeo and Juliet, if Juliet was a fame hungry piece of plastic with the mental fortitude of the contents of a rock quarry and Romeo was completing his transformation into a banana slug dressed up for Halloween as k.d. lang.

Afterward, Courtney and Doug probably went home, where she tottered off with Dourtney on her wannabe Shauna Sand hooker heels to Google herself in her well-appointed Hello Kitty room, while Doug retreated to the garage to contemplate man’s existential dilemma while restocking the candy supply in his windowless van.

(Photo: Wenn)

After spending most of the summer hibernating up in between Jon Hamm’s ass cheeks, the Hammaconda has flopped out and is once again ready for its close-up now that Mad Men has started shooting again. If you look closely (and I know your peen-loving ass is) you can almost see the Hammaconda smiling at the camera. Or maybe it’s winking.

While checking his Google alerts to see if any new pictures of his Hammaconda have come out, Jon “Don’t Look At My Free Hanging Dick” Hamm walked to the set of Mad Men in L.A. yesterday. I went through all the pictures and I didn’t see any pictures of Hammaconda Hunters, hired by AMC executives, chasing him with a net and trying to hold him down so they can put three pairs of chonies on him. So I’m guessing AMC gave up on trying to get Jon Hamm to wear Hammaconda-hiding underwear. I’m hoping that means that on the last season of Mad Men, they will explore the Hammaconda’s backstory in flashbacks and show us its early days growing up in the Hammazon Jungle.

Pics: Pacific Coast News

So much for that “confiscating cell phone” rule. Here’s a video that showed up on YouTube of the permanent itch on humanity’s ball sack Justin Bieber dreaming of bottomless janitor buckets while a Brazilian girl, who may or may not be one of the hookers he picked up from that whorehouse, films him on her cell phone. The cackles did not stop coming out of my mouth when the camera whipped around and she blew a kiss at him. The Biebs thinks he’s fully grown now, but he’s not since he obviously doesn’t know about one of the most important grown up rules in life: “Kick your trick out right after the fuck times is over and give them a moist towelette to wipe their fuck parts with as they walk out the door.”

I was beginning to think that she was just the au pair and after Justin woke up from a night terror, she patted his wittle head until he we went mimi’s again. But then I saw this tweet that’s supposedly from the girl who filmed a sleeping Biebs.

Thanks @justinbieber for the fresh dolla bills pic.twitter.com/GIP9FwbQrL

— gaby del campo (@gabydelcampo) November 7, 2013

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I was wondering why she looked so satisfied. It obviously wasn’t from the dick. It was because she got paid. And now she better go down to the clínica gratuita (that’s “free clinic” in Google Portuguese), because she’s probably got a serous case of Bieber Fever (which is way worse than Chlamydia).

UPDATE: The Daily Mail says that the girl’s name is Tati Neves and she’s not a pussy peddler. The source claims that Tati was one of 10 girls that Justin brought back to his villa in Rio to party with. The Biebs fell asleep and Tati filmed him. And some have pointed out that she doesn’t have a wrist tattoo like the ho in that tweet does. I slowed down the video and looked for a tattoo on that girl’s wrist. I didn’t see one. So the chick in the video and the ho flashing that money she claims she got from the Biebs are two different people. And yes, this is my life.

via Reddit (Thanks to everyone who sent this)

1. Fire sobriety coach – Check
2. Move partying from apartment back to clubs – Check
3. Show up late to work – Check

If Lindsay Lohan is as predictable as I think she is, then we better shut down the entire length of the Pacific Coast Highway and put a lawyer on retainer, because pre-rehab Lindsay is back, bitches! I know she’s currently in New York, but it’s only a matter of time before Los Angeles jewellery stores notice all their necklaces are missing, and a thick cloud of damp self-tanner and vodka hangs like a curse over Sunset Blvd.

TMZ reports that Lindsay Lohan’s appearance at the Foxwoods casino in Connecticut last night wasn’t as tidy as you’d imagine an appearance by Lindsay Lohan at a boozy casino party would be. Lindsay was paid $50,000 to appear at 10pm to pose for pictures and talk to fans on the red carpet (a red carpet for a Halloween party at a Connecticut casino? Sure, why not). Instead, Lindsay pulled a classic Lindsay Lohan move by appearing nearly 2 hours late at 11:43pm and blowing passed the red carpet. You guys, my mouth is AGAPE due to how STUNNED I am. None of this makes any sense! Lindsay said recently that she’s eager to get back to work, so why would she show up nearly 2 hours late to a job she worked so hard to get? Wait a second; it looks like my computer was accidentally set to ‘hopefully naive‘. Let me switch it back to ‘painfully cynical’.

Foxwoods is now trying to renegotiate her contract so that they don’t have to pay her the entire $50,000. Did nobody at Foxwoods think to do a background check? Jesus, you can’t apply for a job wiping tables at McDonalds without them searching deep into the caverns of your work history (“It says here you once sneezed on a towel at Bed Bath & Beyond. Thank you for your time, you can see yourself out“). Before agreeing to sign over THAT MUCH MONEY to Lindsay Lohan, someone should have said: “Hey, lemme just throw her name into Google to see if she has a history of being a complete deadbeat, and I just broke Google. Sorry.”

The only reason Foxwoods isn’t reneging on the whole amount is because when she did finally show up, Lindsay did a decent job of hosting a costume contest with Floyd Mayweather. Jesus, how difficult would that be? The winner is…that guy dressed up as Miley Cyrus and that girl dressed up as a slutty fire hydrant. There, I just hosted a costume contest from my laptop, no big deal. Hosting a costume contest at a casino is the least shameful activity on Lindsay’s ‘Shit I’d Do For $50,000’ list, so unless she wants to put her best wig on and go back to the more soul-crushing jobs, she better start showing up to casino parties on time.

I didn’t think we’d still be writing about Heidi Montag in 2013 either, but here we are. According to HuffPo, the former reality star and come-to-life RealDoll has gone under the knife again, but this time to take her elementary school dodgeball chichis down from a size F to a size D. Heidi cites ‘health reasons’ for her trip to the ER, so I feel like it would be really shitty of me to make fun of someone who isn’t putting on the paper gown for funnies. So I won’t. What’s not off-limits, however, is the fact that she invited Brooke Anderson and Entertainment Tonight to film the whole thing. Doctor, you might want to check Heidi’s fame-hongray-ho levels; they seem to have risen again.

We r in the OR w/@HeidiMontag tn on @ETonlineAlert as she downsizes from F breasts to D for health reasons! pic.twitter.com/KcAP2D7pbr

— Brooke Anderson (@BrookeAnderson) October 31, 2013

Back in 2010, Heidi had to go hard in order to distinguish herself from the other bowls of cold oatmeal on The Hills. Lauren Conrad was writing books. Whitney Port was making clothes. Audrina Patridge was staring aggressively at the ceiling. After hooking up with that ghost-bearded asshole and failing to gain any footing as a parody artist (wait, this was for real? Oh fuck, that’s a bummer), she did what any of us would do; she spent all her money on multiple surgical augmentations that would render her completely unrecognizable and forever uncomfortable. That only kept us entertained for a month or so, and suddenly, like Keyser Söze, she vanished (but by that time we had the Kardashians, so we barely noticed she was gone).

Heidi clearly misses the attention; why else would you invite a camera crew to videotape the intimate moments between Plastic Surgeon and Patient’s silicone titty sacks? Oh, right. Money. When you blow 10-million on stuff n’ things, have to move back in with your parents, and working the night shift at TARGET gives you the dry heaves, then of course you would call up Entertainment Tonight and ask them: “Wanna watch me get new boobies? It’ll only cost ya $1000”. Look, I don’t know how much she’s getting paid by Entertainment Tonight, but you know it cannot be much more than $1000. Ugh. That’s what we call a sobering thought.

Oh brother. Stories like this should be taught as a college-level course to bright-eyed kids who dream of moving out to Hollywood. If you become famous (and you might, if you let the right famous brother pee on you) you need to remember that in the grand scheme of things, you ain’t shit. One day you might find yourself followed by 24 paparazzi trying to get a picture of you putting change in your meter on Melrose, but 3 months later you could be begging TMZ to appear at the ribbon-cutting ceremony you’re hosting at a Ross Dress for Less in Glendale (if you’re lucky. Don’t think you’ll be above a Del Taco grand opening in Arcadia).

(Pic via Wenn)

“How nice; now everyone can afford Gaultier” – Suri Cruise, as she sits on a throne made of human nannies.

No longer content with making clothes for rich people, Jean Paul Gaultier has decided that it’s time he start also catering to their rich crotch droppings as well. According to the Daily Mail, JPG (which is actually a pretty hot acronym) began making clothing for kids back in 2009 under the name Junior Gaultier, but he woke up one morning and thought ‘Why charge Normals hundreds for a dress when I could charge celebrities THOUSANDS?!’

Only one piece for the collection has been released so far, and it’s this Gap Kids c.2001-looking $1,200 silk and tulle dress that will be available in sizes 4 to 14 years old. I know that a $1,200 dress for a child seems ridiculous (because it’s well-known that children are just small drunk adults who spend a great deal of time falling down and pissing themselves) but to the rich, this is VALUE. This is Jean Paul Gaultier for TARGET. This is ‘John Paul Gotye‘ at a Florida swap meet. Real rich kids like Suri Cruise or Blue Ivy Carter could buy and sell your ass six times over, so a $1,200 dress is like a roll of Bounty towels to them.

Unless they need a new painting smock or a princess costume for Halloween, they won’t be caught dead in a dress that was bought off the rack. You think Apple Martin gets her dresses from the same store as Tori Spelling’s kids? Puh-lease. Here’s how it works: If Vivienne Jolie-Pitt wants a new dress, St. Angie summons 4 men in balaclavas to kidnap you in the dead of night, brings you to an unmarked warehouse somewhere in Cameroon, hands her assistant several hundred-year-old gold bars, which they then hands to you (you don’t get to touch the veiny extremities of the chosen!) and gives you 24 hours to create a unique child’s dress that will be worn once to a toy store in Australia, then promptly burned to a pile of ash.

The only person I can think of who is desperate enough to convince us they’re high-class and bougie enough for a $1,200 baby dress is Kris Jenner. You know she’s already put in an order for North West, Kourtney’s Kid (I cannot even bother to Google her name), and herself (“I’m practically the same size I was when I was 14!”)