Trying to prove that the stick that’s permanently shoved up her ass is actually a funny bone, Fishsticks Paltrow showed up to the Emmys last night in a hilarious dress that got more laughs than the shit was on Charlie Sheen’s head. When she was talking to Ryan Gaycrest on the red carpet, I thought his peen was going to crawl up into his stomach so he could barf it out when he said that her Pucci dress was so sheer that we all faced the threat of seeing her cucci. Bitch’s sense of reality is as fried as her hair if she thinks this shit looked sexy. GOOP looked like she was wearing a dildo cozy made of funeral doilies and grandma’s old panties complete with Metamucil-induced skid marks.

Fishy is as skinny as a tampon string, but that dress made her look like she’s serving up organic caca souffle. But I’m sure that a mere mortal will soon write an essay in The Morton Report about how they were choking on a chicken wing at an Emmy party when the sight of Fishy’s stomach made them dry heave it out and SAVED THEIR LIFE! Fishy saves lives even when she looks like cold vanilla shit wrapped in memaw’s table runner. Move on…

Here’s a small gallery of more hos from last night along with my one-second comments. In order:

Paula Abdul who I’m assuming is wearing a sash made of bedazzled Vicodin pills for easy access.

Claire Danes who needs some fucking Latisse for her limp ass hair.

The Ginger Keeper of the Magnificent Chichis whose husband was obviously Mother Theresa in a past life.

Stepford Katie whose jooree box was obviously raided by Suri Cruise and Tommy Girl.

Heidi Klum whose coochie looks like its foaming at the mouth. Cujo coohie!

TWO CROSS-EYED GLAMOUR GODDESSES!

Jenna Aushwitz (I forget how to spell her last name and don’t make me Google on a Monday
morning) who is wearing a reworked version of Brenda and Kelly’s prom dress.

Sofia Vergara whose teeth scare me.

Jon Hamm with Jennifer Westfeldt whose face is starting to look like it’s made of non-biodegradable materials. And I don’t know if Jennifer’s sticking out her stomach in that second picture or if her ovaries are orgasming from touching her piece (probably the latter).

Kristen Wiig whose nostrils must’ve had a case of the shies last night.

Evan Rachel Wood who at first I thought was Austin Scarlett in drag and got really disappointed when I learned the truth.

Peter Dinklage who made my nipple holes squeeee when he picked up that big Emmy and spoke at that tiny microphone.

Julianne Marguiles who should throw those clear aquarium rocks at whoever told her to wear that busted dress.

Olivia Munn who needs to have a seat and stop.

Jim Parsons who needs to spend less time dipping his face in a bowl of foundation and more time manicuring those brows.

Kate Winslet who is there.

And finally, Melissa McCarthy, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler!!!!

The FBI is currently looking at those hacked pictures of ScarJo’s nips and ass, and as soon as they come out of that locked room with the silk tie over the door knob, they’re going to start investigating the hacking of Mila Kunis’ phone too. Oh, I bet they are. There’s your tax dollars jacking at work!

TMZ reported a few days ago that the same hacker who snatched ScarJo’s 250 pixel titty off of her cell phone also pulled some 21st century Hackers shit on Mila’s phone. But unlike ScarJo, Mila was not ready to make her nekkid cell phone picture debut and kept all of her goods off of her phone. The only semi-scandalous pictures on her phone were of Justin Timberlake and another picture of a mysterious peen. At the time, amateur detectives and hos thirsty for Timberpeen assumed he pulled his dick out of the box and made it smile for Mila Kunis. And you know me…

There are many peens that I want to meet in person and/or through a picture, but Justin’s has never been one of them. If you rolled around in my laptop’s cache, the words “Justin Timberlake penis picture” would not stick to your body. Surprisingly. But after I read that a Justin Timberlake dick pic is somewhere out there, dickmatization took over my body and I searched everywhere for it. I traveled through the forums of Sean Cody cum shot videos and down through the dungeons of old Jack Wrangler pictures. I came up with a lot of future fapping material (thank you, internet), but I did not come up with Justin Timberlake’s dick. And now TMZ tells me it was all for nothing!

The peen portrait on Mila’s phone does not belong to Justin and his down low stuff has never posed for a camera. Justin really knows that the dick on Mila’s phone doesn’t belong to him, because there’s no scar on it from the time Brit Brit mistook it for a white cheddar Cheeto.

So if it isn’t Justin’s dick. Whose is it? Don’t even tell me it’s Macaulay Culkin’s, because I’m not ready to find out where searching for “Macaulay Culkin penis” on Google will take me. (SPOILER ALERT: It took me here. And I’m done.)

Just hours after Douche Brad Pitt once again reopened the triangle that makes me long for the days when we cared about more interesting triangles like the one in Bermuda or the one on Madge’s jacket in Desperately Seeking Susan, Jennifer Aniston BRAVELY came out of her NYC apartment with the boyfriend she won at one of those claw games at Dave and Buster’s.

Seconds after a stage manager wearing an ear piece in the mic yelled “cue 1…2….3…GO!,” Dulliston (Brad Pitt’s misinterpreted words, not mine) opened the door, strolled out onto the stage of life and threw out one of those casual “OMG! WOW! What are you doing here? For little ole’ me? You would think that my name is on my Google RSS Reader a trillion billion times the way you’re clicking at me!” faces. Jennifer had to do this so a team of therapy cats wouldn’t be sent in to check to make sure she didn’t try to drown her sad miserable feelings in a soaking tub full of Bisquick soup and dozens of bowls of Warm Delights.

But of course this bland bitch is okay. They’re all okay, because they’re all in on it together. We should be convinced that Brad, Angie and Jen are all aliens from another planet whose sole purpose is to send the public into a rage frenzy over some stupid shit we shouldn’t care about. It’s entertainment for their fellow aliens on their home planet. We’re like the #1 show on every planet but this one. We’re like their Jersey Shore (which they laugh at us for watching, by the way).

Even those Kardashian trash sluts are in on it. The Kuntrashians are absolutely everywhere, because they’re the alien cameras capturing all this madness. While you were eating your keyboard over Brad’s dumb words yesterday, you quickly glanced through your sliding glass door and wondered why Khloe Kardashian was sitting in your backyard. You figured she was just eating your dog’s food again. NOPE. That sneaky trick was recording you acting like a fool and broadcasting it live onto XFilesTube! Why isn’t the government doing anything about this? Why is Obama quiet about this? Why am I not shouting this conspiracy theory through the subways of New York at 4am?!

Breathe.

If you need me I’ll be making all of us tinfoil bonnets. Or do you want a tinfoil fedora instead?

Andy Whitfield left the role of Spartacus in Starz’s Spartacus: Blood and Sand last year after the cancer he thought was in remission came back. Last I heard, Andy was responding well to treatment and they said he was getting better and might recover. They made it sound like maybe Andy would be back to getting his crotch chapped from wearing leather loin cloths really soon. But sadly, his manager told the Associated Press that Andy died of non-Hodgkin Lymphoma in Sydney, Australia today. Andy was only 39 years old. From the Associated Press comes this piece of sadness:

Whitfield’s wife Vashti in a statement called her husband a “beautiful young warrior” who died on a “sunny Sydney morning” in the “arms of his loving wife.”

Whitfield — who was born in Wales and lived in Australia — was a virtual unknown when he was cast as the title hero in “Spartacus,” a hit original series for the Starz network that made waves with its graphic violence and sexuality.

Whitfield was preparing for the second season when he was diagnosed 18 months ago.

Rest in peace, Andy.

It’s already hard for me to look at Tom Brady, because he has the exact same haircut as the little snide bitch in my 2nd grade class who asked me if I had vagina (Which dim dumb me said “yes” to, because I wasn’t really sure what a vagina was. The junior twat got me that time.). But now I really have to make my lids hug my eyeballs whenever I see him on the street (since I always see Tom Brady on the streets of real life), because his full name and soul print now shows up on ADP’s payroll list of all of Satan’s employees!

Hell’s second footwear of choice already siphons out the spirit of Midwestern tweens and whory Malibu moms (who wear that mess with coochie cutters and see-through cotton shirts) through the bottom of their feet, and now they’re going after men. And Tom Brady is helping them to carry out their dork-sided (Never 4 Get God Warrior) plans!

With a precious bob haircut like that, Tom should be using his beauty to sell Dutch Boy Paint, Easy Bake Ovens or Subarus. Not whoring for Illuminatiwear. But the only thing keeping me from switching out Tom’s pomade with gel made from the Blood of Christ is the fact that he’s never actually seen wearing UGGs in that commercial. Maybe a centaur of the ninth circle is his UGGsdouble. And by a “centaur of the ninth circle” I mean Gisele.

via HuffPo

When I Googled “Celine Dion bathtub,” this came up. Seems about right.

While the GREATEST SINGUH IN DA WORLD gave her husband René Angélil a sponge bath after feeding him a spoonful of her blended pastries (not a euphemism, so don’t let your imagination open that trap door) at their mega mansion in Florida, a Canadian dude was practically doing the same thing at their mansion in Quebec.

E! News says that 36-year-old Daniel Bedard tried to open the front door to Saaaaaayleeeen’s house, but when he found that shit was locked, he slipped into one of Ruuuunaaaay’s cars (which was not locked) and pulled out the keys and a garage door opener. Yes, René left his house keys in his unlocked car. But what he lacks in simple common fucking sense, he makes up for in clit-throbbing pure sexiness (Exhibit A).

Daniel opened the door to Céline’s house and felt the sensation of a hummingbird cooing into his ears and a swan running its feathery nipple along his skin (it’s that forty five billion dollar air humidifier shit Céline installs in all the buildings she lives in).

What does a ho do in Céline’s house? Naturally, you nibble on her pastries (again, not a euphemism, so pad lock that trap door already) and try to give yourself a French Canadian Calgon moment by running yourself a bath. What Daniel didn’t know is that her silent alarm (which sounds something like this and can only be heard by the K9 unit) was set off and the police showed up at the front door as he was coming down the stairs.

Nerve is something Daniel has nothing of, because the first thing that came out of his was mouth when he saw the cops was: “Hey, guys what are you doing here?” The cops asked him the same thing, quickly put him in handcuffs and later charged him with breaking and entering, among other things.

Céline hasn’t commented on this, but since her heart constantly pours out love the same way her tacky ass Florida water park pours out gallons of water, she’s probably okay with this. It warms the edges of her soul knowing that a crazy bitch wanted to scrub at his taint in one of her bath tubs and filled his empty stomach with the placenta wrapped in skin she keeps in her fridge. Yeah, that’s what that was. Do you really think Céline keeps snacks in her kitchen?