When Harvey Weinstein was publicly exposed as a rapist bastard, his wife of a decade, Georgina Chapman, claimed to have known nothing about his dark proclivities and got the shit out of there. Even though she tried to distance herself from the Harvey scandal, Georgina’s life still got shat on. Her brand, Marchesa, suffered despite the efforts of wealthy elite friends like Scarlett Johansson and Priyanka Chopra who wore her dresses. And even Marchesa’s co-founder left Georgina. But in the love department, things are going good for her since she’s still getting on Adrien Brody. They were first rumored to be a thing in September, and now sources are saying they’re going strong. But are they going “Adrien Brody bought her a castle of love” levels of strong?
Wes Anderson is back with another cinematic masterpiece that will make your eyes go “Ooh!” and your brain go “Huh?”. After watching the trailer for The French Dispatch I have no idea what the plot is other than it involves some sort of publication I’m assuming is called The French Dispatch. But it sure looks nice! Continue reading
I’m starting to think that some celebrity gossip editor found a magic lamp at an antique store, and wished for three random Hollywood couples to spice up this month’s dating news. First there was Zooey Deschanel and a Property Brother, then the possibility of Jon Hamm and Lindsay Shookus. And now, according to The Sun, Adrien Brody is dating Harvey Weinstein’s ex-wife Georgina Chapman.
The annual Cannes amfAR Gala for AIDS research was held last night, and it’s an event that truly brings out the best attempts in fashion. This is what Nicki Minaj looked like, and I love it all. The Morticia Addams hair paired with the un-dead boudoir eleganza from Roberto Cavalli and the ten pounds of diamonds makes her look like Vampira’s money-hungry hustler sister Scampira. Watch out, rich dudes – she’ll suck the life out of you and your bank account!
The universe is a shifty bitch who gets off on playing with our emotions. One second, the universe lifts me up passed the stars by giving us Susan Sarandon dragging Woody Allen in front of a bunch of reporters. The next second, the universe drops me, and as I plummet to the ground, it kicks me in the already bruised-up culo while wearing Mexican pointy boots. That happened when one of my favorite panty cream-inducing douche lotharios, Adrien Brody, not only defended Roman Polanski, but he also defended Bill Cosby and Woody Allen. And he did it on Jenny McCarthy’s SiriusXM show. It’s a good thing that my mom isn’t like Jenny McCarthy and vaccinated me, because if she didn’t, listening to Adrien Brody defend the Unholy Trinity of Trash would’ve given me whooping cough of the ears.
Thanks to the fact that the temperature in L.A. was about as hot as a newly-released fart lingering in the Heat Miser’s chonies, everybody who went to the Emmys yesterday probably made squishy sounds when they walked because of the pools of sweat jelly that formed on their crotch areas. Well, those pools of sweat jelly were definitely washed away by a wave of crotch cream when Adrien Brody sashayed onto the carpet looking like sex double-wrapped in smarmy and dipped in Brut.
Adrien and his signature douche pucker were at the Emmys, because he was nominated for Houdini and also because kissing history-making actresses at award shows is his thing. As I said earlier, Olivia Culpo nearly fainted on the red carpet, and she claims the heat did her in. But I bet she really got the faints when Adrien Brody flipped his glorious mane as he walked on by. Adrian looked like the kind of high-priced gigolo who takes his old lady clients to the opera, fingers them in the box (that line has two meanings) and makes them smell his fingers afterward. Swooooooon.
Here’s a million pictures of some of the dudes (including Damian Lewis, Joe ManJello and David Oyelowo) at the Emmys, but who cares about any of them. The only thing your eyes need is Adrien Brody giving you “stache-free Yanni in a fun house mirror” hotness.