Scene: A glamorous woman, draped head-to-toe in luxurious satin, supine on a velvet settee. She reaches behind her to pick up a vintage mid-century telephone, inlaid with mother of pearl.
Hello, have I reached Nobu? I’d like to reserve your most conspicuous table please. One more small request, I’d like to order dessert ahead. Off-menu of course. Yes, thank you, I’ll have seven servings of revenge, served ice cold. That will be all.
M’aam. Like I said before, this is a Wendy’s.
Goddamit, HILDY! (shouted indelicately into the mansion’s cavernous void) Get me a fucking table at Nobu and tell all them kids to put on some fucking shoes, we’re going out.
That’s how I imagine things went down at Angelina Jolie’s house when she read the news that the father of her children, Brad Pitt, went public with his (probable) new, much younger girlfriend, in the pettiest way possible: by allowing them to get papped on their way to stay at his and Angelina’s old love-shack in France, Chateau Miraval. The place they were married by the same private judge who is currently presiding over their protracted divorce (and to whom Angelina objects).
The 1992 The Far Side calendar I keep by my desk has two red check marks on Monday and Tuesday, counting the number of days since Ben Affleck and Ana de Armas’ last pap stroll. And I have a sinking feeling more red checks are to come. Ana’s on to us! Apparently Ana doesn’t like people making fun of her rare genetic condition where she can only metabolize vitamin D if the sound of multiple cameras shuttering is present. Last night, Ana #tooktotwitter and went on a blocking spree which included two of her most popular fan accounts.
It’s good to know that even in #theseuncertaintimes, some things remain constant. The sun still shines in L.A., and so it shines on Ben Affleck and Ana de Armas’ daily pap stroll. Over the weekend, BenAna hit the stroll as usual, but were not taking any chances with their health this time. On Friday, they took the dogs out for a coffee run and were both wearing face masks! Though they were unable to make their customary pit stop for a kiss, they proved their love by holding hands, even though it meant Ana had to hold a little bag of dog shit in the same hand she was holding her coffee and her dog Elvis’ leash. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is. And in an even bigger gesture towards avoiding the plague, on Easter, Ana wore a Gucci Hazmat suit! Either that or she was dressed up as the Jiffy Lube Easter Bunny.
The Weeknd’s tour is in NYC right now, and after he played Barclays in Brooklyn last night, he and his current pap stroll partner, Selena Gomez, went to a restaurant called Carbone where she delivered rhinestone-embedded demureness and he didn’t even try. The Weeknd wore the outfit that 7 out 10 eighth grade boys in my school and I bet he spent most of the night scrawling anarchy symbols onto a paper bag book cover. Selena, on the other hand, gave us glamour and she looks like she’s about to work the floor of a strip club and ask the men if they’d like a dance. That see-through dress is a champagne room-summoning work of elegance.
A source tells E! News that The Weeknd and Selena acted romantic, or whatever, all night, and that when she walked into the room, the men all paused and neck muscles nearly snapped.
A source dished some details about the couple’s evening and couldn’t help but comment on Gomez’s style, noting that “what she was wearing turned heads when she walked in and out.”
While heads turned in that restaurant, the head of Selena’s ex, Justin Bieber, probably dropped down in sadness. Seeing the nipples of his ex-au pair/wet nurse made him think of happier times when he’d cuddle up to her and chupa on her nip in between getting burped by her. Those were the days.
The extra long Holly Hobbie doll who should be charged with grand theft for stealing Annette Funicello’s wardrobe has truly mastered the art of the pap stroll. Taylor Swift always makes sure that the paps get a clear shot of her fancy purse (which she probably got free), her Beach Blanket Ass Bingo outfit (which again, she probably got for free), her designer heels (again, for free) and her hand in her pieces’ hand. I see that someone has been taking night classes at Phoebe Price’s School Of How To Make The Most Out Of A Pap Strut. My only critique is that Tay Tay really should’ve touched her stomach at one point, because that would’ve given tabloid editors the perfect picture to use for their inevitable “Tay Tay’s Having A Bay Bay” cover.
Pap Stroll Barbie and Opportunist Ken went to eat things at a restaurant in NYC last night. They’ve been dating for a couple of months or so and Calvin Harris is well on his way to getting into the Guinness Book of World Records for being her longest-lasting piece. A source type tells Life & Style that Taylor and Calvin are moving really, really fast and that marriage talk isn’t that far away. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’re already talking weddings, because I bet Taylor serves her man a heart-shaped pancake with the words “I Wuv You” written on top in strawberry maple syrup the morning after their first sleepover. The source also says that Taylor’s friends are concerned or something, because they think that Calvin has some skanky skeletons in his closet and is pretending to be the perfect boyfriend.
“Calvin’s putting on a front now. He used to date a bunch of club girls who were nothing like Taylor. If they ever came forward, it would hurt Taylor’s brand. They are getting very serious, very fast. Taylor has already introduced Calvin to her parents.”
So, Calvin Harris doing some “club girls” is going to hurt Taylor’s brand? Taylor has been on humanized chlamydia strain John Mayer. If her “brand” can survive John Mayer, it can survive ANYTHING.
Here’s Taylor throwing a smug “Yes, bitch, I’m about to get that dick” look at the cameras last night. And yes, by “dick” I mean “spotted dick,” which Taylor and Calvin made before watching a Last of the Summer Wine marathon while snuggling under a handmade Union Jack throw. It was British night at Tay Tay’s place!
Well, I guess George Clooney and Amal Alamuddin’s circus extravaganza of a wedding was only a preview of what’s to come, because it looks like their entire life is going to be like the end of Sunset Blvd. Cameras! Flashes! Glamour! Flashes!
People says that Amal is going by “Amal Clooney” professionally and now the 2 people on the planet who didn’t see her in a wedding dress next to George Clooney on the cover of every magazine will see her last name and know that she must be married to huge Hollywood star George Clooney. I, for one, hate that Amal changed her name. Because if skinny fat gays ever become in demand in the gay porn world, I was going to change “careers” and go by the porn name Anal Clooney. And now I can’t thanks to Amal’s ass.
The future First Lady to George Clooney’s future President went back to work in Athens, Greece today and when she showed up to her hotel, dozens of photographers and “fans” screamed for her. What? Dozens of photographers and fans don’t line your walkway and scream for you when you come home after a day of work? As Amal sashayed down the stroll to her hotel and smiled at her adoring subjects, you could practically hear her say to herself, “Click! Flash! Wow! Bang! Wink! Smack! Fornarina!”
Amal is in Athens to meet with officials from the Greek government to talk about what their legal options are for trying to get back a collection of classic Greek sculptures called the Parthenon Marbles from the British Museum in London. A British diplomat named Thomas Bruce ALLEGEDLY stole them from the Acropolis more than 200 years ago and Greece wants them back. Are we sure the Marbles snatcher’s full name is Thomas Bruce? Are we sure his full name isn’t Thomas Bruce Lohan? Anyway, who cares about all that legal boring stuff when our new Jackie O is in Greece! I’m sure that if Amal’s firm represents Greece and the case goes to trial, the judge will immediately declare her side the winner before saying, “Okay, now that we got that stuff out of the way, what’s Matt Damon like?”