Well well well, what do we have here? If it isn’t The Deaner redefining raw sexuality YET AGAIN. Happy Belated Canada Day to me! Seeing The Deaner’s booze-bloated beer locker busting out of a pair of Carhart overalls makes me wanna put my hand over my heart and sing. Oh Canadaaaa….our home of beady-eyed traaaaash….
Tori Spelling, the poor little bleached camel with the heart of hardened silicone has decided to follow up her reality show about arguing with her loser bangaholic husband in therapy with a reality show about arguing with her loser bangaholic husband at a cottage. Damn Tori, SLOW DOWN! Bitch must think she’s filming the desperate fame whore version of The Amazing Race.
Radar says Tori & Dean: Cabin Fever was filmed last summer up in Ontario and will air on the Great American Country channel. So if you really want to see 13 episodes of Admiral Ackbar screeching at The Deaner to quit jerking it in the boathouse and start painting the Muskoka chairs, then call up your local cable provider and ask them to suspend your service, because you need to check into an insane asylum and don’t know when you’ll be let out.
Since the show takes place in Canada, the producers thought it would be fun to let The Deaner write the press release for it. BIG MISTAKE:
“Hey jabronis, you missed me? Here’s what’s crappenin’ with the ol’ Deaner – I got a job! And like a job-job, not a blow job or a hand job or that thing the chicks in the Valley are doing called a knee job. The Deaner realized that if he wanted to keep scoring primo tail he needs to be on television, so I got the wife to piece together some old footage of me bumming around up north at the cottage and sell it as a reality show. But don’t worry, they edited out the part where I gave that chick from the marina crabs. The Deaner don’t wanna cock block The Deaner, you know what I mean??”
And that, my friends, is the exact face one should make when they’re in the presence of one of Pimp Mama Kris’s Krotch Droppings. “I don’t care how much we paid for admission, we need to leave. Now. Seeing one of the babies means that the mother isn’t far behind.”
Friday marked the kick-off of the world’s largest hipster costume party, the Coachella Jorts and Selfies Festival in Indio, CA, and I guess all those $20,000 cheques cleared, because celebrities have started swarming Coachella like rats to an open dumpster behind KFC. Now, technically Coachella doesn’t officially begin until the arrival of the First Lady of Fauxhemia, Vanessa Hudgens. But since it usually takes her hours, even days, to get ready (it takes time to dry hump the 70s), she usually let’s them go ahead and start without her.
I know we’re less than 24-hours into this weekend-long Urban Outfitters commercial, but already Aaron Paul has won my heart by embracing the true spirit of Coachella. It’s not about $200 custom jorts or having the longest gauzy vest or the widest hat; it’s about dancing like nobody’s watching while rolling hard on shrooms:
Either Aaron Paul is higher than Jesse Pinkman after snorting a pound of blue crystal meth, or he’s working hard for that $15,000. Either way, I’ll be right back: I need to pray to a giant piece of New Age quartz that there’s a video somewhere of Aaron Paul dancing to Ellie Goulding all by himself in a little circle, because I need that in my life.
Here’s more hookers clickety-clacking along the Coachella stroll on Friday, including Selena Gomez (sans King Joffrey Bieber), Marla Hooch and The Model One (that sounds like an 80s cop show: Hooch & The Model) Joe Jonas and his girlfriend Basic Bitch Blanda, a rotten leftover from the refrigerator of 2005 and her sister Nicky Hilton, and Kellan Lutz, who if I had to guess, got paid $200 and a voucher to a taco stand:
In case you needed another reminder that you clearly fucked up in a past life and now are being punished, here’s some news that will make you shake your fist at the ceiling for a solid 5 minutes before spilling a lukewarm AriZona green tea all over your crotch and screaming “FUUUUCK YOUUUU” to the universe. According to the NY Daily News, The Queen of Coachella Nü-Hippies, Vanessa Hudgens, is getting a fat greasy $15,000 cheque from McDonalds to attend the obnoxious annual denim cutoff convention in Indio, CA this weekend. Dear McDonalds: You’re dumb because you just paid Vanessa to do a job she would have done for free. Coachella is like her religion. Every night she gives double peace signs to the framed picture of Minnetonka booties hanging above her bed before praying on a floral headband rosary, beginning every prayer with “Our high-waisted jorts in Heaven, hallowed be thy fringe…”
And it’s not just Vanessa who’s cashing in on Coachella. Musical theatre bunion Lea Michele is being paid $20,000 from Lacoste and all she has to do is show up wearing a shirt with a gator on it. So when you see pictures of Lea Michele dressed as a tennis-paying yuppie sticking out like a sore thumb amidst a sea of fringed patchouli-scented coochie-cutters, you’ll know why.
But some celebrities aren’t as lucky as Vanessa and Lea (let’s come back to that sentence in 10 years and we can all have a good laugh). Breaking Bad’s Aaron Paul is still waiting to hear back regarding his request for $15,000 and two VIP passes, Joe Jonas is looking for around $20,000 to appear (paid in cash or coke, he’s not picky), and Kate Bosworth – yes the Kate Bosworth who’s notoriety is limited to having two fucked-up eyes – is asking for $30,000.
It all sort of makes sense that they need to lure people to Coachella with clickety-clack sounds, because why the fuck would you go otherwise? Coachella is a hot sweaty mess in the middle of the desert that combines the stink of Burning Man with the experience of lining up for a change room at Urban Outfitters. I know, I lost me at ‘hot’ too!
What is it with super-secret weddings? They’re so hot right now! In the event you’re planning a wedding and you don’t know what’s trendy, just remember:
IN – Super-secret weddings!!!!
OUT – Giving your family and friends the heads-up that you’re getting married (ew, suh tacky)
The rest is all arbitrary: pick a cake, have an open bar to prevent your family from hating you forever, post a picture to Instagram and wait for the ‘likes’ to roll in. Or just skip the last part and let your ex-husband announce it on Twitter, like Kimora Lee Simmons did.
After reading a rumor online that Kimora was dating rapper and possible oil tycoon Birdman, Russell Simmons proved he has the heart of a yoga turtle and bravely cleared her good name (for real, read that super-embarrasing shit about Birdman’s oil company) on Twitter by letting everyone know she’s been off the market for a while:
— Russell Simmons (@UncleRUSH) February 19, 2014
I know, official RIP to Djimora Lee Simsou. As it turns out, shortly after their split, Kimora hooked up with investment banker Tim Leissner. Gareth from The Office face with an investment banker booty? You don’t say. You’ve got to hand it to Kimora; bitch takes a great mugshot and runs a tight gold digger game. Get it bitch! I hope your super-secret wedding also involved a super-secret pre-nup (Shhh…it doesn’t exist! Yaaaay). Congrats to you Kimora Lee Simmons Leissner! I’d say Mazel Tov, but it looks like this situation calls for a Clickety Clack.