The Time Brad Pitt Found Angie Jolie Crying In The Shower

“There’s a taxi waiting outside for you, sweetie” is the line that slipped off of George Clooney’s tongue to Stacy Keibler at the Critics Choice Awards in L.A. last night after Brad Pitt hobbled in saint-less. It was a brodate at the CCAs! Just look at those pictures of Brad making the silver hairs in George’s ears quiver by whispering into it. Try to tell me that Brad and George’s chemistry is not shooting an Atlantic Starr into your head.

Anyway, Brad showed up alone last night, because Angie Jolie was off doing a live web chat with Marie Claire to promote In the Blood and Honey (click here to see the live chat with a cameo by Maddox…sort of). During the Q&A, Angie confessed that right before her first day of directing, she slowly melted down in the shower like Jennifer Aniston when she finds out that she’s out of uncooked cookie dough-scented body wash.

“I had a complete emotional breakdown in the shower and Brad found me crying. I felt this huge responsibility and I felt very small. ‘Who am I to take this on?’

I didn’t plan to become a director, and I still have trouble saying I’m a director. I just wanted to tell this story and I ended up by default being the director. It was a pleasure, but I wonder if it would be a pleasure with another cast and crew, and a subject matter that wasn’t so special.”

Oh, please. The real reason Angie shriveled into a puddle of frightened emotions and almost slipped down the drain is because a drop of Suave Strawberry Smoothie shampoo accidentally fell in her mouth and eating the extra calories scared her. Angie didn’t feel small. She felt HUUUUUGEEEEE! But seriously, Angie’s shower time breakdown got Brad Pitt into the shower finally, so it’s a good thing it happened. The next time the Pig-Pen in your life refuses to bathe, just have a mental breakdown in the shower and he’ll come running to your rescue before he realizes you’re about to drop a soap bomb on him.

“George, Don’t Worry The Swelling Will Go Down Soon”

If that’s isn’t a “walk it off, you weak bottom bitch” moment between a kinky bitch and his rough trade strap-on master, I don’t know what is.

After trying (and failing) to convince the world through red carpet poses that their relationship wasn’t consummated by a pen scooting across a contract, George Clooney and Stacy Kiebler went down to Mehico to get a few golf and fisting sessions in before award season begins and they are EVERYWHERE. Never mind that seeing George in aqua shorts fills me with the same kind of uncomfortableness I felt when seeing my abuelita in Body Glove board shorts and Jellies, he’s doing the same shit he does with all of his temporary pieces. He shows them off at his premieres, takes them to Mexico, takes them Lake Homo (typo, I SWEAR, and it deserves to stay), takes them to the Golden Globes, takes them to the Oscars and then takes them to a recycling center where they’re spat out into various reality shows. That’s how it always works.

I beg Stacy Kiebler to deliver us from BORING and change the script a bit. And she can start by teaching George to scream out “Ayúdame! Ayúdame!” instead of “HELPME! HELPME!” when she’s paddling his old ass too hard in their Mexican hotel room. I mean, your safeword should always be in the official language of the country you’re in.

Stacy Keibler And George Clooney Are In The Longest Staring Contest Ever

George Clooney brought his latest contract girl Stacy Keibler to the Annual Hollywood Film Awards Gala last night and as they made their way up the red carpet, they stopped and stared at each other. Just like they stared at each other in London….and Paris…and New York. That’s what they do. They stare at each other like an old couple sitting in the middle of a Sizzler who just silently stare at each other as they chew on their all-you-can eat shrimp. This leads me to believe that Stacy isn’t pinning George down and forcing him to suck on her strap-on, they’re just in a really long staring contest.

They started it weeks ago and neither of them is blinking for shit. So George is taking Stacy wherever he goes and when he gets some free time, they resume the staring contest! Yes, that is exactly what’s going on. They’re not fucking, they’re just staring. That is a completely reasonable explanation (that I did not pull out of my bong) for these two bitches’ serious staring problems.

Hint to Stacy: Just coo out the word “marriage” and George will blink with his entire body.

Or wait. Maybe this isn’t a staring contest at all. Maybe they are blinking. Maybe George learned from his past mistakes, so from now on he’s training all of his temporary pieces to communicate by Morse Code through blinking. That way they won’t speak with their mouths, because George hates that.

Foiled By Titty Tape

The first time George Clooney fulfilled his contractual obligations by bringing Stacy Kiebler out to pose with him at one of his premieres, they had the chemistry of a soft dick and an anus-less ass. If awkwardness was a power source, George could use those uncomfortable as shit pictures to run the conveyer belt of leased trophy hos in his basement. George and Stacy went for round 2 at last night’s Paris premiere of The Descendents and if you put the black sheep of the Keebler Elves and the ghost of Rosemary Clooney together, they’d probably have more sparks between them than this mess right here.

Couldn’t Stacy come to the premiere dressed like Brad Pitt’s peen to pull some kind of excitement out of George’s face? George’s meh-ish facial expressions run from “Why are you still here?” to “Must call the escort agency in the morning” to “This bitch’s titty tape came out to play and I ain’t even going to tell her.” I mean, George is more excited to see some bald dude in a brown suit than the trick he’s supposedly scissoring on a sex swing. Yeah, I know George has to have a shiny thing on his arm whenever he’s selling a movie to make him look like some kind of Bond type who is a master pussy wrangler, but it’s starting to make him look like a Hugh Hefner type who would rather be making out with a bowl of cold tapioca pudding.

But my favorite part is the titty tape. You know you have problems when the titty tape is the star of your premiere. And now I want to tapioca wedding.

This Looks Natural

George Clooney should get credit for his spot-on Mr. Magoo face and Stacy Kiebler deserves extra points for making her tits look like evil bee eyes, but other than that these pictures couldn’t be more awkward and uncomfortable if Elisabetta Canalis ran on the carpet, skinned Stacy, wore her as a suit and then continued to pose with George like nothing every happened. George finally let Stacy pose next to his ass at last night’s NYC Film Festival premiere of The Descendants and Sarah Larson better make up the bottom bunk at the halfway house for Clooney’s discarded leased pieces, because by the looks of their ice cold chemistry this mess is not going to last.

George has that same “looking for the exit face” you make when you regretfully decide to go to breakfast in broad daylight with your one night fuck piece and are trying to decide whether or not you should go with the “blueberry syrup gave me explosive diarrhea” excuse or the “I suddenly remember I have a dog that needs to be walked” excuse. George is squinting his eyes so hard in hopes that with the power of an imagination and bad eyesight, Stacy will look like the sparkling anus of his soulmate Brad Pitt. It didn’t work, obviously.

BREAKING: George Clooney And Stacy Keibler ALMOST Held Hands

George Clooney and his award show escort Stacy Keibler took their work relationship to the next level last night by being photographed together while leaving a party at the Toronto International Film Festival. If you really don’t know what to say about this, just let the lady on the left’s “Somewhere there’s a family of hungry, homeless chicks without a nest… CALL PETA!” side-eye speak for you.

Is this bitch serious in a for real way? The only thing she has to do is wear a fancy dress that doesn’t clash with the threads of star dust in George Clooney’s hair and wear his favorite scent (Eau de Brad Pitt’s Nipple Sweat), and this is what she comes up with? A dress that will only look okay on a toddler at a Valley of the Dolls-themed funeral and a ratty nest that looks like a beady bead stuck up between a Sasquatch’s ass cheeks? No, bitch, no. If you stuck a man anus hole on the top of Stacy’s weave nest, John Travolta still wouldn’t stick his tongue on it and that’s saying a lot.

It’s going to be a long (insert the number of weeks you bet in the “How long is this Stacy and George shit going to last?” pool at work) if this is Stacy’s idea of looking hot.