Dance, Tilda, Dance!

As I watched this video of the alien albino cockatoo Tilda Swinton dance like my abuelita after an extra sip of communion wine at Roger Ebert’s film festival in Illinois a few days ago, I read the news that all 12 gay and lesbian people in Rhode Island can get married soon! Once the bill passes in the House, every state in New England will be a gay marriage state. Marriage and misery for everybody! And now the come-to-life Air Dancer that is Tilda will lead us into the rainbow with her sweet, sweet moves. Dance Tilda can’t dance no more! (No, I’m not proud of that pun.)

This Is Art: Sleeping Tilda

When I take a long nap in public, the police wake me up and tell me to put on my pants and go sober up at home. When the humanized form of a unicorn horn Tilda Swinton does it, people wait in line to see it and they call it ART!!!

Starting today and continuing for the rest of the month, Tilda Swinton will take naps in a glass box at MoMA in NYC all day, on random days. Gothamist says that even the employees at MoMA don’t know when she’s going to show up. Tilda just glides into the museum in the morning, gets into the glass box and sleeps off her hangover. The only things in the box besides Tilda are a water jug and cushions. The piece is called “The Maybe” and Tilda first performed it in London in 1995. The museum said this about Tilda’s art piece:

An integral part of The Maybe’s incarnation at MoMA in 2013 is that there is no published schedule for its appearance, no artist’s statement released, no no museum statement beyond this brief context, no public profile or image issued. Those who find it chance upon it for themselves, live and in real—shared—time: now we see it, now we don’t.

Call this shit stupid and scream about how you do this every night, but this is the legendary Tilda doing it. It’s like going to a unicorn zoo. I’d rather watch Tilda sleep or take bird sips of tap water from a plastic tumbler for six hours straight than watch Lady CaCa or Beyonce or whoever do anything. This shit is a bargain too. I think it’s like $25 if you’re not a member. Bitches have spent a lot more money to watch Brit Brit nap on stage during her concert.

Besides, this is hard work. Tilda has to hold in her pee (although, I don’t even know if she does pee), she can’t fap and if she lets out a fart, there’s nowhere for her to escape from it. She should’ve called this piece “Dutch Glass Oven.“

And if you landed on this post after Googling “Tilda’s box,” I’m sorry.

YAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSS!

Either this is some serious Life of Pi-like CGI trickery or David Bowie and Tilda Swinton are actually two separate alien gods from a planet where beings are made from the core of diamonds.

Besides a Sally Kirkland sighting, something was missing from my Oscar Sunday and that something was Tilda Swinton looking like a majestic horn-less unicorn towering over all those simple bitches, but this video more than makes up for that. Somebody finally heard our screams and prayers and put Tilda and Bowie together in the video for his single The Stars (Are Out Tonight). It’s also got models Saskia de Brauw, Andrej Pejic and Saskia De Brauw in it and it’s a genderfuck kaleidoscope for your eyes. Everybody in this is so damn angular. It’s like they were made with the help of a protractor. Tilda, Bowie, androgynous nipples, beautiful protractor people and ice blue eyeliner are the only things your eyes need today.

I hope that this is just Bowie sticking the tip in and the shaft is a Bowie biopic starring Tilda and a Tilda biopic starring Bowie. Yes, today is the day that I learned that Tilda and Bowie are two different beings and thank the fuck for that.

via Jezebel

Stacy Keibler Has Officially Been Replaced

Nothing says “Stacy Keibler, please pick up the box of your belongings at the front gate and immediately report to the halfway house for exCLOONunicated hos” like this picture of George Clooney queefing hearts from her eyes while holding hands with his new heartmate Colin Firth at the BAFTAs in London tonight. Finally, after trying out bland trick after bland trick (the robot call girl that is Sarah Larson is not included in that list), George Clooney chose a red carpet escort I can finally get behind in every fucking sense.

You know it’s a perfect match when George has a sneaky “I’ve got the double-sided dildo if you’ve got a high tolerance for pain” look in his eyes and Colin Firth is trying to quietly scream HELP! with his facial expression. Luckily for him, Colin Firth managed to get away and George was stuck with his other soul(and hole)mate, Brad Pitt who left St. Angie in her crypt tonight.

And before I get to who showed up to that shit tonight to get their award (winners here and Uggie was robbed yet again), let’s all throw up our hands and watch as our chonies shoot off of our crotches from the sight of this:

It’s not unusual to hump your monitor when you see the original panty creamer Tom Jones. Tom looks like a stick of dynamite filled with Cheetos dust just exploded up in his face and he’s still excited about it. This is the charbroiled piece George Clooney should hire as his next escort.

Anyway, here’s all the tricks and hos who got glamour ready by spraying their crotches with perfume for the BAFTAs tonight: Jessica Chastain, Jean Dujardin with his wife, Gary Oldman with his wife, Octavia Spencer, Christina Hendricks and her magnificent chichis, an alien from planet Disco Ball, TILDA!!!, Viola Davis, Meryl Streep, Michelle Williams, Penelope Cruz, Brad Pitt, Colin Firth with his wife, DanRad, Clooney and the hot piece who can give me melanoma of the tongue if I lick on him.

All Hail Tilda!

In the sea of candle faces, burnt sienna skin and rejected bridesmaids dresses, out came an alien goddess from planet Bowie whose hair blows without any wind around it. They should’ve put a giant CLOSED sign on the red carpet as soon as Tilda Swinton stomped in looking like the Snow Queen going to a high-powered business meeting. Bitch is business on the top and ELEGANZAAAA on the bottom. Normally, I’d feel sad on the inside if Tilda didn’t show up in a dress that looks like an iridescent condom made by Frank Gehry, but all of this worked from the top of her Hermey hair to the bottom of her Sally’s Beauty Supply shoes. Speaking of, only Tilda can look at the hair samples under the dye boxes at Sally’s and say, “I want that on my feet!”

Tilda Swinton Wanted To Murder Her Baby Brother Once

Tilda Swinton plays the mother of a psychotic sociopath crazy in the movie We Need To Talk About Crystals: The Spencer Pratt Story. No, she plays the mother of a teenager murderer in We Need To Talk About Kevin and she tells The Telegraph Magazine (via UsWeekly) that when she was just a little girl she almost earned a place in juvie death row because one day she looked at her baby brother with those Hermey the Misfit Elf eyes of her and thought to herself RED RUM! RED RUM! REEED RUM! Let this little story tuck you into the pocket of your nightmares tonight:

“Years ago, when James Bulger was murdered, every newspaper front page was talking about evil. At that point, having suppressed it for years, I remembered when I was four or five, I tried to kill my own brother. He was newly born and I was disappointed, because he was the third boy. That was enough as far as I was concerned.

I went into his room to kill him, saw some ribbons from a bonnet going into his mouth, and began to pull them out. And I was discovered saving his life. So I had this strange reputation – my brother’s savior – and no one knew I wanted to kill him. It took the Bulger case for me to remember that I’d seriously wanted to.”

This is why I feel a strange emotion called love for Tilda Swinton. One minute I want to lick her eyeball and the next minute I want to lick her eyeball while crying out of fear that she’ll bite my chin off bone and all. Tilda could add five doses of creepy to almost any story. I bet when she reads Goldilocks and the Three Bears to her twins, they end up crying for Jesus. Bitch has that effect.

And who hasn’t tried to kill their brother or sister? We all have. My sister and I could tell stories about how we tried to bash each other’s skulls in with Barbie cars and how she threw me into a dryer. If she was able to reach those knobs, I’d probably have pieces of charbroiled brain hanging out of one of my ear holes (which would be slightly better than the current state of my brain). It’s normal!

But you know that when Tilda goes to her brother’s house for Christmas, he only serves mashed potato soup, turkey dogs, cranberry sauce Popsicle and anything else that you don’t need a knife to eat. Ho isn’t about to be almost murdered by his sister again.