…Because it’s the only way to keep Robin Thicke interested.
Paula Patton, or as groupies and Vegas cocktail waitresses know her – “Robin’s Bottom Bitch”, arrived at the Golden Globes last night looking like an older woman was about to take her aside and discuss that not-so-fresh feeling (which is ironic, seeing as she has the world’s biggest douche at home). Dressing up like a pussy is some Elmer Fudd shit: Paula probably put it on thinking “I’ll catch that wascally Wobin”, then Robin pops up from the ground all nonchalant with two strippers, munching on a carrot (and by ‘carrot’ I mean ‘carrot’, you perverts) saying “Nice try, Doc” before descending back down the hole (and this time,’hole’ means…you get where I’m going here).
The dress itself isn’t so bad, it’s just that damn chiffon pussy (Chiffon Pussy – New Jersey’s Classiest Bridal-Themed Gentleman’s Club) hanging off the left side; it makes it look like a challenge from a lost X-rated episode of Project Runway. “Contestants, this week you will be required to create a dress for Paula Patton. Your challenge: to take one of the bedsheets from Robin’s tour bus, shake out all the random pubes and blonde hair extensions, and create a dress that makes Paula look like a messy loose pussy. Bonus points if you’re able to treat the full-body rash she’ll surely receive from wearing one of her husband’s used bedsheets.”
Sharon Osbourne was on Graham Norton’s show at the end of November and told everybody (who didn’t ask or want to know) that the most excruciating plastic surgery procedure she ever had was vaginal rejuvenation. In a in a new interview with Howard Stern (via USWeekly), Sharon says she lied about having the procedure done as a joke while Howard called her ass out for backpedaling out of embarrassment.
On Wednesday morning, Osbourne described the hoax to Stern as a “flippant, stupid thing to be silly.” In return, the skeptical radio host pressed the British star for more information: “I feel like you did [get the surgery] and now you’re embarrassed to say it,” he said.
“I made it up,” retorted Ozzy Osbourne‘s wife of 31 years. “You’re saying you fabricated the whole thing?” an incredulous Stern demanded.
“I swear on my children’s lives I made it up — just to be flippant,” admitted the mother of Kelly and Jack. “How could I do that after I’ve had so much like, ill health?” she continued. “Now I’m going to start putting scaffolding up my vagina?” she quipped.
On one hand, I hope she did have the surgery, just as a safety net for all the other shit she’s done to herself. She’s had so many other things nipped, tucked, stuffed and plucked that if didn’t have her stage door closed, all her internal organs would eventually become unstable and fall like a Jenga tower straight out of her bagina and right on the damn floor. But on the other hand, if she left well enough alone, there would be a better chance Ozzy could stuff his peen in there and not have it look like he’s trying to shove a marshmallow in a piggy bank.
Here are some pics of Sharon and her maybe unratcheted crotchal situation in New York. Ugh, spending ANY time thinking about Sharon’s vagina situation, tightened or not, is making me queasy. It’s also undoing all the joy that spending a lot of time looking at food porn pics in the lasagna tag on Tumblr earlier this morning brought me. Thanks a fucking lot, Sharon.
Remember when I said 7 seconds ago that I care about the well-being of your ears? I said a lie. Because if I had any respect or love for your sense of hearing, I wouldn’t expose it to this eardrum-burning, dead baby hooker shit from Manufactured Superstars featuring stumbling bag of queefs Wonky McValtrex.
In that monotone, soulless, slut toddler voice of hers, Parasite educates us about the new phenomenon (for 1999) called drunk texting. Just like her “career,” sex tape and insides, this mess has a pulse rate of zero. This is like Meeting In The Ladies Room if Meeting In The Ladies Room got the life beat out of it with a flip phone and was left for dead in the alleyway behind a has-been club. To quote the poetic Klymaxx: “I had to leave my condo to come to this?!” If I tried to drunk text this song to anyone, my iPhone would auto-correct it to read: STOP!
I know you hate me, because after listening to that virus of a song, you now have deflated anal warts inside of your ear holes. Maybe this dose of musical antibiotics from a real star will stop the stinging a bit.
UPDATE: Wonky’s black hole ate the EwTube above, but if you really hate yourself you can click here to listen to it.
While MK is busy scarfing down some fine Italian cuisine (your mind WOULD go there, sucio!), J. Harvey and I will be here doing our best to keep the beautiful Dlisted train from going off the rails. Graffiti totally counts as fine art, so don’t even go there. MK sent me a link from Socialite Life to this pic Khloe Kardashian posted on her website, looking pretty and skinny and BLOND several Christmases ago. (Note: my computer choked on the words “Khloe” and “pretty” in the same sentence and I had to re-start the bitch three times.) This was apparently before the whole “dye my hair to look like my sisters so no one will know my mom was a complete ho and fucked around on the guy I thought was my dad” phase.
I have to say, she looks good as a blond…computer, NO!! Choke it down, bitch. She’s actually the only one of those hos that I have any respect for (hang in there hard drive) since she doesn’t take herself too seriously and seems kind of human. Enjoy tearing this pic of Khloe to shredded shreds while I resuscitate my pc with booze and bong hits.
Seen here locking out Kim Kardashian’s check cashing cooch until Pimp Mama Kris finds a suitable (read: dumb, rich, famous and with a bladder that’s always ready to party) suitor for her to suck the life out of, the KKK are on January’s cover of Glamour (just read that as “Glum Whore” and it’ll make more sense) Magazine and are giving their first interview since they pulled a giant scam on everyone. The already annoying interview turned into an annoying dry queef fest about how Kim’s dream of becoming a mom at 30 is officially dead and it’s only a matter of time before Pimp Mama Kris closes a deal with E! for a 16 hour-long “Kim & Her Uterus Say Goodbye To Each Other FOREVER” special. After Kim covered the permanently-attached silicone alien mask on her face with a “WOE IZ ME” mask, the KKK got deep:
Kim: …I think I’ll always be a hopeless romantic.
GLAMOUR: What do you mean by that?
Kim: It means that I believe in love and the dream of having a perfect relationship, but my idea of it has changed. I think I need to not live in a fairy tale like that. I think I maybe need to just snap out of it and be a little more realistic.
Khloé: I love Kim’s belief in love and the fact that she feels so strongly about it. She has that dream every girl has.
Kim: Well, I don’t think I have it right now.
Khloé: Which is fine, but I’m your sister and I know why you don’t have it right now. But I know you will get it again.
Kim: I hope I do. But by then I hope maybe I’m a little bit more realistic.
GLAMOUR: Realistic about what?
Kim: The fact that what I want isn’t possible.
Khloé: What, a guy on a white horse coming to get you? That doesn’t happen!
Kim: I don’t know. I always wanted what Mom and Dad had. And at first I was like, I want six kids. Then I went down to four, then I was down to three.and now I’m like, maybe I won’t have any. Maybe I’ll just be a good aunt.
Khloé: But Mom and Dad got a divorce, and she met Bruce. And you were a child; you don’t know what Mom and Dad had. As an outsider looking in, it probably looked like paradise.
Kim: At this moment in my life, I feel like maybe I’m not supposed to have kids and all that.
Khloé: Oh my God. Don’t be dramatic all of a sudden!
Kim: That’s how I feel. Maybe my fairy tale has a different ending than I dreamed it would. But that’s OK.
Before Pimp Mama Kris ran that interview through the fake machine, it really read like this:
Kim: …..I think I’ll always be a hopeless famewhore.
GLAMOUR: What do you mean by that?
Kim: It means that I believe in whoring myself out for fame at any cost and dreaming of having permanent relevancy, but the game has changed. I think I need to be choosier about the fake husbands I cast. Did you see the first episode of Kourtney & Kim Take New York? Of course you did. Over 3 million stupid fucks did. Cha-ching, beyotches! You saw how Kris farted in my sister’s face on camera. He farted on my sister on camera! I know Kris was my stage husband, but he signed a contract in blood stating that I’m the only one he’s supposed to perform a bodily function on in front of the cameras. I was humiliated! How can I have a publicity stunt baby with a monster who farts on my sister? That’s cheating!
Khloé: Wookie like eating baby. Wookie like eating baby.
Kim: Um. Anyway, back to me. I don’t have that dream anymore.
Khloé: But Wookie want baby to NOM NOM on.
Kim: No, you dumb dumb! I’m still going to have a baby, but I’m going to be a little bit more materialistic about it and I don’t need a fake husband to do it.
GLAMOUR: Materialistic how?
Kim: Everybody is having a baby with their husbands. That’s been done, is boring and only gets you a maximum of 3 People Magazine covers. That’s why I’m going to get knocked up and won’t tell anybody who the father is. The evil scientists at E! are making a fetus out of my old face and all the used condoms I stole from Reggie Bush’s trash can as we speak. Think of all the magazine covers, specials and endorsement deals with Indentigene! There’ll be a “Who Shot A Load In Kim’s Pussy?” special and covers of Life & Style will be flying out of my twat like black dick does. You stupid Americans will eat it up and I’ll be more rich and more famous than ever. I’m so glad dad sold my soul to the devil to get O.J. off. No morals equals more money! Cha-ching!
Khloé: Wookie happy about having baby to nibble nibble.
Kim: Wait! How did you sneak into the middle again? Get back, beast! Back! I’m the Chynna! You’re the Carnie! To the side where you belong.
Parasite Hilton has copped a peen (don’t you dare red mark that typo) in order to keep from sitting her flat ass in jail. The Las Vegas Review-Journal says that Wonks will plead guilty to misdemeanor drug possession and obstructing an officer in exchange for a tiny slap on the wrist in the form of one year of probation. Wonks’ crotch critters are clapping their claws together, because their fix is going to keep on coming!
Wonks was caught with less than a gram of the bad shit in Las Vegas last month when her boyfriend was pulled over for hot boxin’. According to reports, Wonks’ story changed several times. At first she denied that the purse was hers. Then she said that the purse did belong to her, but she let her friend borrow it earlier in the night. That’s when she dropped the “I thought the coke was gum” excuse. Wonks faced jail time if prosecutors charged her with a felony. But now she’s free!
On top of probation, she will have to pay a $2000 fine, complete a substance abuse program and serve 200 hours of community service. If she’s busted for anything before her probation ends, she’ll go to jail for a full year. Somewhere deep inside Wonks’ pet closet, Tinkerbell Hilton is offering up a reward to any dog who successfully sets her up. So 911 operators should know exactly what to do if they get a call from a yappy ass dog. We’re all in this together!
But seriously, the lesson here is that if you’re going to get caught with the bad shit make sure the arresting officer can check the “rich“, “white,” and “famous” boxes on the police report. If they can, then feel free to do a line on the report while the officer is writing it up, because the party never ends for you! YAY!