Candy is the magazine that graced our eyeballs with the piping hot image of Tilda Swinton looking like a flaming ginger phoenix in glamour drag and James Franco looking like a rejected Robert Palmer Girl. And now they’re giving your eyes another serving of Miley Cyrus’ nipples. I usually see my nipples every day when I hang my head down to cry in the shower and I have still seen Miley Cyrus’ tit knobs more than my own.
If you’ve been feeling way too clean today and needed a reason to scrub penicillin powder onto your eyes with a Chore Boy, just picture Terry Richardson jacking off with one hand while NSFW taking pictures of Miley Cyrus sucking off a police baton with the other. As the glory hole cum stain Uncle Terry shot away, the edgy hillbilly chipmunk served up all sorts of poses like the “tasting my pit fur” pose and the “strung out hustler looking for a john” pose and the “self-sucking strap-on” pose. I have a feeling that the strap-on picture is going to be the Cyrus family holiday card this year.
And yeah, I get it, Miley Cyrus is still letting Mickey Mouse know that she’s all grown up and is beyond edgy now and can flash her marmoset cooter anytime she wants, but why drag that poor innocent pussy into this? That cat wants nothing to do with this mess. I’m not sure if that cat’s face says, “Meow meow?” (that’s “Why me?” in catanese) or, “You fucking better not cum on me, Uncle Terry.”
Two strange things have happened: 1. Terry Richardson jizzed up into someone’s body instead of all over their face while taking their picture. 2. The ovary of that someone he jizzed up into didn’t immediately pull down its security gate and slap a “WE HAVED MOVED! NO FORWARDING ADDRESS!” sign on it as soon as it saw Uncle Terry’s nasty sperm fishes swimming toward it. I thought all women were born with that protective gene. I guess not. Because Page Six says that soon, the humanized skid mark on a pair of crunchy American Apparel chonies is going to be a father to an actual human being. SANTO DIOS!
Subtle has a new definition and it’s that picture.
Barely legal Kylie Jenner did a photo shoot for something called Galore Magazine and in case you couldn’t tell from the thick layer of ICK NAST covering your skin, the pictures were taken by the textbook definition of pervert Uncle Terry. If these pictures had audio, you would be able to hear Pimp Mama Kris screaming, “Whore out, Louise! Work it, own it and take those pants off before you put that tiger toy on your krotch! Too much? Yeah we should save that for Playboy.”
Speaking of PMK, last week I posted about how she’s supposedly koncerned that Tyga is using her little plastic ATM with Fix-A-Flat lips. Well, today People magically has quotes from a sores (typo and it stays, because the “sores” is probably PMK) who says that she’s all for Kylie and Tyga. I’m sure these quotes will be read when Pimp Mama Kris is once again named Pimp of the Year at the Players Ball.
“There’s not much she could say since Kylie is an adult now. Kris actually supports their relationship big time. She thinks he is the next hip hop genius of our generation and wants to do anything she can to help him succeed.”
PMK is a noted hip-hop expert and knows what she’s talking about, so I’m sure Tyga will go on to become the greatest rapper of all-time. Please, just because PMK’s stable of hos have done half of the rappers out there doesn’t mean she’s an expert hip-hop expert. And if PMK is trying to sell Tyga to the public now, that means whatever was left of his soul is in a jar in her lair and he’s her whore now.
Australian songwriter and nightingale Sia, who has more talent in one of her ass veins than most of the pop whores she writes songs for and who is currently terrorizing my ear tunnels with the emotional Lamps Plus jingle “Chanda-leeeeer-here,” became a wife on Saturday when she married her Peter Sarsgaard-looking ass man Erik Anders. Radar says that this was the “fast cummer’ of engagements, because Sia and Erik Anders, who makes documentaries, only got engaged two months ago. I really need to keep up with the news about Sia’s personal life, because the dried mash of rotten bologna and weed buds I call a brain thought she was still clit wrestling with JD Sampson from Le Tigre.
UsWeekly says that Sia and Erik got married in the backyard of her house in Palm Springs, CA. Sources say (no, they didn’t) that since Sia has the shys in a big way, Lena Dunham played her and an actor from central casting played Erik during the ceremony in front of guests and Sia and Erik actually got married in a darkened, closed-off room where she had her back to the pastor the entire time. Sia hasn’t confirmed this shit yet, but she sort of confirmed it on Saturday when she tweeted this:
Omg omg I'm so excited
— sia (@Sia) August 2, 2014
But was she so excited that she swung from the chanda-leeeeeeeeeeer-here?
And I wish I was making this part up, but Radar also says that Terry Richardson shot her wedding pictures.
Sia has said and done a lot of crazy things (examples: saying that the good shit gave her bi-polar and siccing her Twitter followers on a dry cleaner who screwed up her clothes), but nothing is crazier than saying, “I want Uncle Terry to shoot my wedding pictures,” and then actually going through with it.
Instead of the guests throwing rice at Sia and her husband, Uncle Terry stood on a ladder and came all over them. And during their first dance, they were serenaded by the loud cries of their guests who watched Uncle Terry fuck the cake while doing himself with a string of anal beads made out of Jordan almonds. Well, I guess every wedding needs a creepy, pervy uncle who jacks off through a hole in his pocket while watching the bridesmaids sashay down the aisle. But seriously, if Sia really wanted her wedding pictures to be out of focus and a mess, she should’ve gotten a strung out, brain dead salamander with shanky hands to take them with a waterlogged disposable camera. It would’ve been cheaper and I don’t think the salamander would’ve came in the plastic swans on the table. I think.
Here’s Sia and her new husband at some event in NYC in June.
Um, those two dogs on the left making a “This Is Not What I Signed Up For” face should really tell their Chow Chow friend, Genghis Khan II, that opening his mouth when Terry Richardson is around is never a good idea. Or maybe GK2 is silently screaming and shutting his eyes because he can’t with this mess. Probably the latter.
The woman who Blake NotSoLively will one day skin alive and wear posed for a spread in Net-A-Porter’s print magazine Porter and before the shoot, she was given a list of photographers to choose from. Fashionista (via Jezebel) says that Terry Richardson was on that list. If you were doing a shoot for Porter Magazine and they gave you a list with Uncle Terry’s name on it, you’d probably say, “Why are you giving me the National Sex Offender Registry? Give me that list of photographers!” Martha didn’t do that and out of all the photographers on the list, she went with the human chloroform rag. Either the name Terry Richardson hasn’t penetrated through the mint green bubble that Martha lives in or she figured that since she’s all out of Creme De La Mer, she might as well try a new facial cream. Porter says that after the come-to-life stock photo of a pedophile shot her, she told everyone he was “cute.” This is the reason why the Strawberry Shortcake bar I ate last night is crawling up my throat:
“It is the first time these two controversy-hounds have met but it is, like so much in Stewart’s life, no accident. After debating over a long list of photographers, America’s house-mother superior insisted that Richardson shoot her. ‘Oh, he is cute,’ she will say later, when he comes to say goodbye.”
The only thing more WTF-ish than Uncle Terry shooting Martha Stewart is Martha Stewart calling Uncle Terry “cute.” Calling Terry Richardson “cute” is like calling a hairy ass wart that a rat chewed off “adorable.” But anybody who has seen the disgusting plates of barf-covered diarrhea that Martha has tweeted knows that she’s blind when it comes to nasty crap.
And I hope that Martha thinking that Uncle Terry is cute isn’t going to lead to a more “intimate” photo shoot, because my eyeballs were not built to take in the sight of Uncle Terry’s leaky dick on Martha Stewart’s forehead.
Nearly three months ago, Miley Cyrus’s adorable dog Floyd was carried up to Heaven on a cloud of bong smoke after a no-good asshole coyote came for his ass, and it seemed like no amount of dirty skunk weed or pussy-squeezing snap-bottom bodysuits could cheer Miley up. Even when Mama Trish tried to dry her tears with a new puppy named Moonie, Miley told her to take it back because she didn’t feel right replacing Floyd.
But the dark cloud of coyote-scented sadness finally drifted away, because Miley says that Floyd has given his blessing for her to get a new dog. The glue-huffing Kelly Generic posted a picture of her new dog friend, Emu Coyne Cyrus, to Instagram, and claimed that Floyd took a break from sniffing dog butts in Heaven to tell her that he’s ok with her new dog friend. Then he went back to trying to hump God’s leg and nosing through the trashcan in Heaven’s bathroom.
Floyd claims he’s cool with Miley’s new dog, but we all know that ghosts are notoriously fickle, so to make sure Floyd doesn’t get jealous and come back to haunt her ass by leaving ghost dookies on the rug, she made a giant shrine in his honor. I didn’t know much about Floyd before, but if this shrine is saying anything, it’s that Floyd is sucking Snausages through a straw in Heaven after spending his time on Earth rolling hard on ecstasy at Doggie Raves and grinding all his teeth down to stubbins.
And speaking of dog poo, slimy wet prune juice turd Terry Richardson released a couple pictures of Miley and Moonie on his website today. Who the hell knows when these were taken, since Moonie was given a pink slip and escorted out of the building by security back in April, but I think I now know why Moonie didn’t stick around very long. Dogs can practically smell evil, so any dog that doesn’t attempt to maul Terry Richardson is clearly defective and needs to be sent back to the factory.