While ev.ree.bud.ee is using their bandwidth on ho collector George Clooney and Stacy Keibler, I’m sitting here wondering why all the attention is not going to the real and most important star of Saturday night’s Carousel of Hope Ball: JOAN VAN ARK!
Stacy Keibler might have a team of stylists paid for by George who put her body in the finest (and ugliest) designer gown and she might have a team of hair people paid for by George (Note: In case you haven’t noticed, “Paid for By George” is the current tagline for Stacy’s life) who use the finest products to style her hair into that of a 60-something socialite circa 1968, but she doesn’t look 1/100th as glamorous as Joan Van Ark does and Joan does it all herself!
Yes, Joan picked out that white wedding dress herself at a David’s Bridal clearance sale and then dyed it the color of the tears her haters cry out when they see her looking more beautiful than them. Yes, Joan torched her own brows so they look like two strips of delicious creme brulee. Yes, Joan sandpainted her own face. Joan did it all herself. It’s times that like this when I’m sad to live in a world where Stacy Keibler’s basic ass is getting more attention than the goddess that is Joan Van Ark. This world ain’t right.
Oh, and because some of you ain’t right, I also threw in pictures of Stacy with George Clooney (aka the man slut carousel of hos) at the Carousel of Hope Ball in Beverly Hills.
Lance Armstrong is done going ball out to fight the doping charges against him and is throwing up his hands and giving up. Because Lance is done brawling with those bitches at the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency, he will be stripped of all 7 of his Tour De France titles and his Olympic bronze medal and he isn’t allowed to ever compete professionally again.
Lance still claims that he did not have relations with that syringe full of performance enhancing drugs, but he’s ending the dope hunt against him, because a ho can only take so much. Lance wrote a statement on his website (via People) yesterday and I should warn you, reading the first line will make you pull a tiny disco ball out of your bottom desk drawer (I know you keep one there) and hold it above your head while you swish your hips and sing out the lyrics, “I can’t go on, I can’t go on no mo nooooo!” You’re going to Donna Summer out (or Barbra Streisand out, depending on your mood), so you should warn your co-workers. Here’s a piece of Lance’s statement:
There comes a point in every man’s life when he has to say, “Enough is enough.” For me, that time is now. I have been dealing with claims that I cheated and
…
Full Story »
A bear trap, a sloth with a drinking problem, a Skee-Ball ball, the animatronic Abraham Lincoln from Disneyland, a pigeon skeleton, a cardboard cutout of the It Clown, Donatella Versace, John Travolta’s weekday wig, the creepy girl at the groomers who told me my dog has nice legs, an empty can of Tab, the broken Sleep ‘N Snore Ernie in my childhood bedroom closet, Blue Ivy Carter, green ivy (the plant), a skunk’s nose hair and a pack of wolves in sheep’s clothing are all things I’d let my hold my baby before I’d let White Oprah hold my baby.
Either somebody disagrees with me or they asked all those things to hold their baby and all those things were busy doing other stuff. Because today at The Grove in L.A., Lindsay Lohan’s pimp mom held an actual living, breathing human baby being without the supervision of several government agencies. I don’t know if White Oprah knows that baby or she just randomly picked that baby up, but I find it really strange that a plainclothes Child Protective Services agent didn’t immediately tackle her to the ground while another agent grabbed the baby. Shouldn’t CPS be tailing her at all times?
On a positive note, if I was a baby, I’d want White Oprah to hold me too. White Oprah’s breath is 100 proof and the shittiest thing about being a baby is that you can’t buy your own booze.
Masochist vegans who are members of the We Hate Simon Cowell Facebook group have never been more turned on.
Simon Cowell’s deflated man tits look like a plate of poorly pounded chicken paillard sloppily breaded in stale rye breadcrumbs, but he’s not letting their sad and defeated attitude get to him while he lives the glamorous life on a yacht in St. Barts with his fiancee and ex-girlfriend. While you’re in your cubicle eating around the rotten parts of a banana left in the back of your office refrigerator, rich ass Simon and his friends are playing with those bananas for fun! To rich bored bitches, bananas are toys! But on a sad note, I bet this is making Ryan Seacrest wipe a single tear on his OshKosh B’Gosh undershirt, because it wasn’t too long ago when the only fruit Simon liked to play with was him. 
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in Los Angeles, Paula Abdul is having a deep conversation on her banana phone while a pear transcribes the conversation on a slice of jicama.
Ignore the sounds of Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel” playing in your head, because even though LeAnn Rimes looks like a neglected horse fly who suffers from the dizzies due to malnourishment, she doesn’t need your $18 a month donation. LeAnn Rimes needs a lot of things (examples: shame, dignity, the name of a good titty ball surgeon), but what she doesn’t need is a donation. LeAnn’s feedbag must be filled with nothing but gold coins, because she’s permanently on vacation. In just the past few weeks, bitch was in Aspen and Mexico. And now she’s strutting her yard apart chichis in Hawaii.
LeAnn and a friend were horsing around (If you GONG me for that one, make sure it leaves a mark.) on the beach yesterday in front of a bunch of paps who I’m sure she called herself. LeAnn can’t go a week without posing for pictures that look like they came straight out of Horse Fancy’s swimsuit edition.
And I need to take a quick moment to shed light on the abuse that plastic ball is enduring at the hooves of LeAnn Rimes. Can you imagine the painful emotions it’s going through as it flies toward a ho with a cemetery of plastic balls on her chest? That poor plastic ball thinks she’s going to catch it and stuff it into her chest where it will be trapped forever. What an evil bitch. Think of the plastic balls, LeAnn!
The Dark Knight Gets A Boner trailer played before the IMAX showings of Mission Impossible 4 this weekend and so dozens of busted and grainy bootleg copies made their way onto the Internet. Some of those bootlegs were so damn bad they looked like they were shot during an earthquake on 8MM by a junkie with the heroin shakes. Well, Warner Bros. finally got their shit together and released the full trailer today. You can put down your flaming pitchforks of outrage, because there’s no Catwoman in this trailer. But there is a masquerade ball scene that I do not appreciate….
Remember in Batman Returns when that hot bitch Michelle Pfeiffer glamorously lets her sanity unravel in front of Michael Keaton while she sticks him in the side with her gun at the masquerade ball? There’s a scene like that in this trailer, but instead of Anne Hathaway bringing out the insane glamour, she whispers about some 99% shit. Bitch is going on about how the rich are going to get theirs. The hell? Bitch, grab your whip and start purring and whippin’ at hos. OCCUPY GLAMOUR, not WALL STREET. Oh, Michelle Pfeiffer, please deliver us from this.
And that Bane trick needs to do more “red leather, yellow leather” exercises, because I can’t even pretend to know what he’s saying.
via DS
After premiering this past weekend before Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows screenings, the latest official trailer for The Dark Knight Rises has hit the Internet today. Depicting a Gotham City eight years after the events in 2008’s The Dark Knight, the trailer teases societal upheaval, (literally) explosive football plays and best of all, two new villains: Anne Hathaway’s Catwoman (or at least, Selina Kyle) and Tom Hardy’s mysterious, mumbling Bane. Let’s parse the trailer the only way we know how: By the numbers.
Seconds of the ominous national anthem played: 8
Melodramatic confessions made by Alfred: 1
Number of mohawked and muzzled villains who prefer the comforts of a lambswool jacket lining: 1 (Bane!)
Percentage of muscle mass Tom Hardy appears to have lost between filming Warrior and Dark Knight: 0
Mansions being ransacked: 1
Number of impressively calm prison breaks: 1
Number of fictional football players named after the current Mayor of Pittsburgh: 1 (Ravenstahl)
Number of fictional football teams playing in Steelers colors: 1, the Gotham Rogues
Number of touchdowns made by Hines Ward amidst Heinz Field explosions: 1
Number of masquerade balls set at the Carnegie Museum of Art: 1
Number of Academy Award-nominated actresses at said masquerade ball: 2
Number of Academy Award-winning actresses at said masquerade ball: 1
Seconds of precious Joseph Gordon-Levitt screen time: 1
Punches thrown by Batman: 2
Number of hovercrafts shown: 1
Number of heavily-choreographed Gotham City fistfights: 1
Number of seconds I spent confused by Tom Hardy’s Silence of the Lambs-style mouthpiece: 30
Christopher Nolan’s final Batman installment premieres in theaters July 20, 2012.
To view the trailer in HD, head over to Apple.
[via Apple]
Full Story »
A promise is a promise and Mila Kunis fulfilled the one she made months ago when she said YES! to Sgt. Scott Moore’s invitation to be his date to the Marine Corps Ball in Greenville, North Carolina. Sgt. Scoot Moore was actually the first Marine to ask a celebrity to his ball on YouTube. Mila could’ve hired unemployed actress and sort-of lookalike Minka Kelly (Minka does parties as both Leighton Meester and Mila Kunis… Check Craigslist for her rates.) to stand in for her, but she didn’t. Just like her main homegirl Justin Timberlake did last week, Mila perfumed her taint, got prettied up and twirled into the ball. The press wasn’t allowed inside, but HuffPo said this about Mila and Sgt. Scott’s night:
Kunis reportedly had a blast at the ball with Moore, who recently returned from a seven-month stint in Afghanistan. Though no press was allowed inside the event, Marine spokesman Sgt. Scott Sasser said the couple had a good time and “it’s good that [Kunis] got to come on a date with a Marine.”
I have to ask the same question I asked when we talked about Justin going to the ball: DID THE HO PUT OUT? But by that I mean did Mila curse Sgt. Scott out in Russian? Because getting verbally whipped by a Russian tongue is just as good as having awkward “pull your panties to the side” sex in the backseat of a Town Car parked in front of the Marine Corps Ball.
FYI: You know this, but the picture above isn’t from last night’s ball. No. I’m sure Mila wore this instead.
You know Justin Timberlake is serious about looking crown-to-forehead beautiful for a very special date when he pulls out the blow dryer, flat iron and straightening serum. That’s exactly what he did for Cpl. Kelsey De Santis, as promised! Remember when that one Marine asked Mila Kunis to his ball (wink wink) and then EVERY Marine asked EVERY celebwhore to their ball? Well, one of those Marines was Kelsey and she asked Justin Timberlake to get all prettied up to be her to date to her ball. Justin bat his eyes, swayed all flirty-like and accepted her invitation. Justin kept his promise last night and sashayed into the Instructor Battalion Marine Corps Ball in Richmond, Va. on the arm of Corporal Kelsey.
One Marine told People that Justin graciously took pictures with everyone and “we all brought sexy back! Justin seemed to have a good time, and it was great to see him there.”
Before you give Justin the taint slap salute for keeping his word, we need to know if that bitch gave up the panty in the parking lot at the end of the night. Kelsey didn’t make a YouTube invitation and give Justin a carnation cock ring corsage just so he could nibble at a chicken dinner and slow dance with her to one song. Nope. It is Justin’s duty
…
Full Story »
