Another year, another opportunity for us to hear about Sting’s steamy sex life. It’s been three decades since it was first revealed that Sting and his wife Trudie Styler like to engage in intercourse sessions as long as a double feature of The Godfather and The Godfather II. You’d think that now that they’re in their early 70s/late 60s they’d settle for a 90-minute quickie, but I guess when you’re a semi-retired millionaire, what else are you gonna do? Not only is he not tired of banging, he’s also not sick of being asked about it for the millionth time.
An international incident has rocked Italian relations as 69(nice)-year-old Sting has slighted a duke’s family by hurling a “slanderous” accusation. Sting suggested in an interview that the late duke, Simone Vincenzo Velluti Zati di San Clemente, was as much a liar as he was a long-named man. Sting accused the duke of shadiness by selling him a wine vineyard that the duke told him produced Chianti wine when it in fact produced Barolo wine. And the vineyard was a Palagio! The only wine I know comes in a box, so this is all going over my head. But the duke’s son called Sting’s words “poisonous” and isn’t sure about whether or not to “take further action.” …Is there a wine authenticity court in Italy?
We’re finally ending our never-ending Oscar coverage today and the best way to end it is with some man pieces who were probably suffocating in their nut-hugging pants and wanted to take it all off halfway through the show. They should’ve. It would’ve made that mess a hundred million times better and awakened all my senses.
My best dressed chick of the Oscars is definitely Charlize Theron, because with that ponytail, casual diamond earrings and daytime gold la-may gown, she was done up like Alexis Carrington making a quick trip to the supermarket. It was very daytime casual Dynasty. And my best dressed dude is definitely Ryan Gosling, who looks like he reeks of Jovan Musk oil and is about to pick you up in his dad’s gold two-tone Lincoln Continental Mark V to take you to the senior prom where he’s going to feel you up while slow dancing to The Closer I Get To You. And he’s definitely the one who spiked the punch.
Ryan wore Gucci (duh) and I couldn’t tell if those were actual ruffles or trompe l’oeil ruffles (Side note: I don’t do drag, but if I ever did, I’ve got dibs on the name Tramp Louie Ruffles.) And then there’s the smooth rat Pharrell, who dressed like a maître d at an underground restaurant that only serves virgin blood and is owned by Kunty Karl. There’s a reason why Pharrell looks like that. He’s wearing Chanel.
And here’s a million more pictures of the dudes from the Oscars. Come for Mahershala Ali and come again for hot piece of wood Jamie Dornan.
I don’t have it that bad for Sting and yet, I’m questioning my job-choosing decisions. I should’ve tried to be a basic cable talk show host/Housewives pimp instead of a bitter blogger.
King and queen of the swingers scene, Sting and his wife Trudie Styler, were on Watch What Happens Live last night and they got into a game of Spin The Message In A Bottle with Andy Cohen. The rules were that they each had to spin a bottle before they were asked a question. If they didn’t want to answer the quetion, they had to kiss whoever the bottle landed on. If the bottle landed on themselves, they got to choose who to kiss.
Oh, Andy! That G-rated slumber party shit is a game that Jimmy Fallon would play! You’re on basic cable AND you’ve got those two kinky bitches in front of you. Andy should’ve told Trudie and Sting to clear their schedules for the rest of the week, because every time they didn’t want to answer a question, they would have to have 8-hour-long tantric fuck times with whoever the bottle was pointing at.
Almost three years ago, human jewel Tim Curry had a major stroke that left him in a bad way. Since then, humanity has been asking “Where the hell is Tim Curry to show these bitches how it’s really done?” and I think I asked that question out loud while watching Christopher Walken in NBC’s Peter Pan Live! Tim Curry has been laying low and recovering with the help of physical therapy. At last night’s Actors Fund Tony Awards Viewing Party in Los Angeles, Tim Curry rolled onto the red carpet to receive a lifetime achievement award for his contributions to making ass lips pucker by swishing, swaying and serving pure talent in Rocky Horror Picture Show, The Worst Witch, etc… etc…
Tim, who’s my favorite age (69), still has to use a wheelchair to get around, but he told Los Angeles Magazine during an interview about his lifetime achievement award from the Actors Fund that he’s doing okay.
Since your stroke you have made limited public appearances. How are you doing and are you looking forward to the Actors Fund event?
I’m doing well and I’m looking forward to it. I’ve done a few benefits for the Actors Fund and I think it’s a marvelous organization. I hope not to have to use it.
How important is your sense of humor to you?
Vital. Absolutely vital. It’s not tough to maintain. It is just part of my DNA.
When I woke up this morning, I saw all these headlines about how Tim Curry was honored at the Tonys. I drunkenly watched every single second of the Tonys (because as a gay dude who once lived in NYC I like to play a game of “Oh Shit, My Friend Totally Blew That One Chorus Boy In A Gay Bar Bathroom” while watching it) and I didn’t remember Tim Curry showing up at all. I almost looked up information for the nearest AA group, because I obviously have a problem if booze ate my memory of seeing a legend like Tim Curry at the Tonys. But after injecting coffee directly into my brain, I realized he was at a Tony viewing party. Tim should’ve been at the actual Tonys, though. They should’ve cut that ship wreck of a Finding Neverland performance and let Tim sing a Rocky Horror/Annie/The Worst Witch/Spamalot medley as he descended from above in his wheelchair. That’s what the Tonys needed.
Here’s a few more pictures of Tim Curry at the Actors Fund Tony Viewing Party. I also threw in a million pictures from the actual Tonys of Bernadette Peters, Chita Rivera and other Broadway legends like Gigi Hadid, Ashley Greene and that model who got naked in a Robin Thicke video.
Sting has said it before, but I guess he really wants all of his chirrun to really get the message that when he dies and takes the last ship to heaven to have 13-hour-long tantric sex with the angels, a giant ocean of money isn’t going to land in all of their laps. Sting has made it loud and clear that if his children are opening up their hands for inheritance money, they better have a piece of toilet paper handy, because the only thing they’re going to get is a giant wet fart with a value of zero. The Sunday Times Rich List reported that Sting and Trudie Styler’s fortune is worth $306 million, but none of his six children are going to get a piece of that, because he doesn’t want them to be spoiled piece of trash assholes whose biggest achievement in life is getting 2,000 Instagram likes on a picture of them rolling in a pile of money while wearing a rabbit fur Speedo on a solid gold yacht. And Sting once again told The Daily Mail that his kids aren’t getting shit, because he and Trudie plan to blow all of their money before they do the locust pose all the way up to the afterworld.
“I told them there won’t be much money left because we are spending it! We have a lot of commitments. What comes in, we spend, and there isn’t much left. I certainly don’t want to leave them trust funds that are albatrosses round their necks. They have to work. All my kids know that and they rarely ask me for anything, which I really respect and appreciate. Obviously, if they were in trouble I would help them, but I’ve never really had to do that. They have the work ethic that makes them want to succeed on their own merit.”
I’m sure Sting’s children went to fancy private schools and got fancy degrees from the finest universities and used their daddy’s connections to land a six-figure job at a world-renowned art gallery where they sell $3 million paintings to their parents’ rich friends, so I’m sure they’ll do okay. The only time they’ll ever eat mud pies is when they hear that the clay diet is the easiest way to quickly lose champagne bloat before summering in Mykonos. But still, if I was Sting’s kid, I’d be pissed at him. They had to suffer through years and years of hearing their parents sound like a fat kid with asthma on the treadmill while doing heavy breathing exercises during a marathon tantric sex session in the next room and they won’t even get a pile of money to wash away those sounds. Cruel.
And if you’re wondering how in the hell are Sting and Trudie going to go through $300 million. Well, they aren’t going to blow it on soap that’s for sure.