Who’s That Girl isn’t only a 1987 Madonna song and movie; it’s also what I screamed when I first laid my eyeballs upon the glittering ginger goddess, and Alabama rose that is Phoebe Denise Price. Long before Dlisted was even a tickle in the internet’s ballsack (just nod and pretend that made sense), PP was ruling Hollywood! GoFugYourself was one of the first blogs to give Phoebe a much-needed stage on the internet, but I fell in love with her while going through photo agency websites and noticing how much they covered her. I had to know who she was and quickly discovered that she’s a WORLD-RENOWNED supermodel (no citation needed), a bona fide Hollywood star (see: her role as Customer with Car in an episode of The X-Files), and fashion icon. PP is fun, over-the-top, and gives a fuck while not giving a fuck at the same time. So I wrote about her over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, so much so that readers began to send me disturbing and offensive emails like, “Stop posting about Phoebe Price.” And yes, those readers now lie in a plot in my brain labeled “dead to me.”
As a birthday present to myself in 2007, I made Phoebe Price Hot Slut of the Day. And Chicken Cutlets ended up winning Hot Slut of 2007, becoming my favorite HSOTY winner ever. PP proudly wore the HSOTY crown, but as I mentioned in my goodbye announcement post, she re-branded Hot Slut as Hot Babe. An activist! Speaking of, here’s one of many favorite PP stories. The year was 2008, and a little unknown fashion brand called Channel or Chennile, or something, was having a party at their store on Robertson in West Hollywood. PP graciously agreed to give that no-name brand some attention by gracing their small party with her superstar presence. But some uneducated PR girls blocked her from getting in, claiming she wasn’t on the list. It is the understatement of understatements to call this The Crime of the Century! PP wasn’t having it and vowed to sue Chanel if they didn’t immediately apologize to her. Behold, the Norma Rae of Not Being On The List!
About a second later, Phoebe declared victory when she discovered that the Chanel store on Robertson had closed:
Okay, in actuality, that store was just getting renovated at the time. But the Chanel on Robertson did end up closing this year. They were obviously so shaken up and paralyzed with embarrassment over being called out by Phoebe Price that it took them 15 years to finally put a Going Out Of Business Because Phoebe Price Called Us Out sign on their window. The power of Phoebe Price truly is like no other!
Pictured: Patron Saints of Dlisted, Phoebe Price and Shauna Sand, preparing for our goodbye party.
Dlisted turned 18 on January 23, so now that it’s an adult (God, help us all!), it’s time for it to fly the coop. On June 30th, Dlisted will take its final bow and will close for good. This is a bittersweet decision that has been marinating in my brain for a long time and wasn’t even close to being an easy one since this site has been my life for nearly two decades, thanks to all of the writers and all of you.
In the site’s final post next Friday, I will explain in detail my decision to pull the curtain on Dlisted (SPOILER ALERT: it’s time for me to move on). That’s if I’m able to finish a draft without my fingers breaking from sadness and nervousness. Until then, Ben, Dominique, Emily, Kristian, Michelle, Vanessa, and I will continue to post as usual, and the comments will stay open. Also, Allison and I will be doing an episode of Dlisted: The Podcast about the site’s closing, so if you have any questions for us, send ‘em over to [email protected].
And for now, I leave you with what I consider one of Dlisted’s greatest honors. Here’s when Hot Slut of 2007, Phoebe Price, re-branded Hot Slut as Hot Babe because she’s elegant and wholesome like that!
Pic: Michael Bezjian/Wireimage
“I’ve never been truly proud of creating the American flag until I saw this gorgeous picture,” said the ghost of Betsy Ross, or whoever is responsible for the American flag.
You know that fireworks show that caused your dog to break out of the yard, run to NASA and stowaway on a rocket because it thought the earth was being attacked by aliens? That fireworks show didn’t happen. You also know how you had to be rushed to the hospital after you drunkenly swallowed four corn dogs whole and the sticks got stuck in your insides (I’ll let you decide which hole you swallowed them down with)? That didn’t happen either, because the Fourth of July never happened. I mean, how could we celebrate America’s birthday when photo agencies barely released these patriotic-as-fuck pictures of this country’s greatest gift today?
But shove a bottle of Xanax into your dog’s mouth and drunkenly butt fuck those corn dogs, because we can now celebrate the Fourth of July since we’ve been graced with pictures of patriotic freckled blossom Phoebe Price doing what she does every year: giving the citizens of the land a show so spectacular that Macy’s is nothing but jealous.
Here’s this country’s founding mother modeling half of a Big Lots’ American flag section while in somebody’s townhouse. And yes, I said this country’s founding mother. This country didn’t officially become a thing until PP came along!
It’s been 146 days since the last time the pages of Dlisted have been slathered with the demure freckled hotness blowing off of Phoebe Price as she graciously graces the lenses of a pap who just so happened to be in the same place papping Angelina Jolie or another lesser like that. But thankfully, the shakes you get from not getting a regular dose of poultry beauty from PP will go away for now, because here she is celebrating Memorial Day weekend by serving up cutlets, thighs, breasts, wings, and all the fixins’ during her 15-minute break from her shift at Chick-Fil-A in Downey. No, PP was filling the sea air with freshly roasted glamour in Malibu yesterday while casually working around looking like a chicken of the sea caught in a net. “Throw it back into the sea…. because the ocean could use more regal beauty..” – anybody with taste
Everyone at Dlisted is taking the day off today to get drunk in someone’s backyard, so I leave you with this high-waisted bikini aphrodisiac. That dog doesn’t know whether to take a bit out of those thighs or launch his red rocket.
Many of us hope that 2018 will bring in many, many changes (examples: 2018 being the year that we finally get some dick, the house next door to me getting plowed down to make way for a 24-hour In-N-Out and Nicolette Sheridan getting recast with Joan Collins on the Dynasty reboot). But I am so happy to see one thing has stayed the same: Phoebe Price slathering the streets of Los Angeles with star power, elegance and three kinds of chicken (cutlets, paillard and roasted).
While some of us spent New Year’s Day trying to drown our hangovers with cold pizza and the entire wig of the dog (read: a bottle of ro-zay) while binge-watching the original Black Mirror (read: The Twilight Zone), Chicken Cutlets was working hard on the stroll where she turned a regular trip to the gas station into glamorous performance art. While looking like the ringmaster of a strip club circus sponsored by the local Fashion Nova outlet, PP posed with a gas pump and rubbed her freckled chichi bags on her car as she cleaned the windshield. PP brought so much SEX onto her SUV that I’m sure it jizzed out of its exhaust pipe.
And Phoebe Price is certified organic and everything she does is authentic and real, so it hurts me to say this, but this gorgeous photoshoot was obviously taken at a fake gas station on a soundstage somewhere. Because if that was a real gas station, I would’ve heard that an entire city block in Los Angeles was blown to Jesus when a stunning human ginger sparkle got too close to the gas.
Don’t worry, I heard all of you (read: none of you) scream that you can’t possibly slurp down a fat slice of canned cranberry loaf and a spoonful of roasted marshmallows (bottomed with a touch of gross ass yams) until you’ve seen a ridiculous HOliday photo shoot starring the Ho Stroll Queen of All Seasons Phoebe Price! A holiday-themed photo shoot starring PP is as much of an annual tradition as your drunk cousin eating uncooked biscuits in the kitchen as she cries about how her husband don’t love her no more.
At a supermarket in the L.A. area recently, shoppers heard the manager say, “clean-up of pure talent on aisle 10,” over the loudspeaker when Chicken Cutlets slathered the tiled floor with SALMONELLA (sexiness, artisticness, luxury, magnetism, oomph, nobility, elegance, loveliness, lavishness and amazingnextleveltalent!). PP left everyone gagging on the hot fumes wafting off of her freckled Cornish game hens. That shopper behind PP is obviously paralyzed by the glamour of it all and doesn’t know how she stumbled onto a French Vogue photo shoot. Or maybe she’s mistaking Chicken Cutlet’s ass for a Butterball turkey and wondering if it’s on special.
Phoebe Price truly puts the “thanks” and “giving” in Thanksgiving, because we’re all thanking her for giving us so much. And if you find that your family is screaming and thisclose to shanking each other with the wishbone, just show them these pictures. They’ll be so mesmerized by PP’s beauty that they’ll stop everything to worship her. Sure, they may look at her giving us chicken, HAM and cheese and eventually start fighting over the last slice of cheesy ham and chicken casserole, but those few moments of silence will be worth it.