Justin Timberlake’s main heartmate Andy Samberg tells The New York Times what all of us have already known. Andy has picked up his dick in the box and sashayed out the Studio 8H exit door right behind Kristen Wiig. Andy says that his contract was up and he felt it was time to move and spend his Saturday nights trying to make his natural curls more luscious with the help of rubber rods and curling custard (Side note: Those two things can also be used as substitutes for dildos and butt lube if you’re looking for a quick thrill.)
“It’s an incredibly emotional and strange moment in my life. Obviously it’s not a huge shock, but I did officially decide not to come back. She (Kristen Wiig) kept saying it just feels like it’s her time. I connect with that. Something about it just feels like it’s the moment. My contract’s up and I did so much more than I ever thought I would ever even do.”
Andy will go on to star in a buddy movie with (insert the name of 2012’s Queen Latifah here) and a few movies with (insert the name of 2012’s Drew Barrymore here) before hosting his own late late late night show on NBC. If I missed anything, just look over the blueprint for Jimmy Fallon’s career and fill in
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Full Story »The original hater Andy Rooney let out his farewell rant on 60 Minutes last night and he ended things the only way I’d expect him to end things: by telling his fans thank you, but get off his lawn! Andy’s farewell did give me a slight case of the sads on the inside, because when I reach the age when my chin starts to sag so much that it looks like a nutsack is growing from the bottom of my head (I can’t wait!) who will tell me that it’s okay to shake my fist at the clouds over my hatred of chocolate chip cookies (yes, Andy Rooney hates chocolate chip cookies) and wrist watches?
If I ever run into Andy at a restaurant after I’ve had brunch while he’s having dinner, I will go up to him, because I believe you truly haven’t lived until you’ve been blessed by his crusty old coot side-eye. I didn’t know gruffing with your eyes was a thing until I started watching Andy Rooney.
And my mom had to SUCIO up my final time with Andy by asking me over the phone, “Do you think he ever wears pants when he’s behind that desk? Old men don’t like wearing pants.” Who does?! We all do our best work when our genitals are rubbing up against the bottom of a desk.
In a delivery room somewhere in California yesterday, KFed’s piece Victoria Prince birthed out the newest baby that will suck on a bottle bought by Sugar Mama Brit Brit! UsWeekly says that KFed’s girlfriend became his 3rd baby mama when she pushed out his 5th child at around 6:33pm on Monday. KFed and Victoria named their new daughter Jordan Kay. JK!
KWellFed told UsWeekly back in April that he and Victoria already planned on naming the newest member to his baby pack Jordan, “[Victoria] said that if we were going to have a little girl, she wanted to name her Jordan. And then, we actually thought that it was a boy, but we stuck with the name Jordan because, you know, it fits both ways.”
I know that most of you hos think KFat is nothing but a hairy lump of uselessness that feeds all of his ten million children with the Cheeto crumbs that Brit Brit sprinkles on him, but he deserves a little more credit. I mean, Victoria doesn’t have to worry about getting swole, chewed-up nipples from breastfeeding since KFed’s right chichi squirts out chocolate leche and his left chichi squirts out vanilla leche. KFed just have to push his chichis together and pinch his nipples at the same time to give his baby a vanilla chocolate milk swirl. Everyone is happy.
I know you’re all screaming that KFed
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Pinch your nipples, kick up your left heel and softly breathe out the name “Jonté Moaning” like you’re trying to make a candle flame dance without putting it out. That is what it sounds like when sequins orgasm. It’s also the name of the chocolate unicorn who taught Beyonce and Janet Jackson how to whip the air with their hip swirls. And when he’s not doing that, he’s giving the people of Japan a glitter overdose they don’t want to come out of.
Jonté Moaning is pretty much the Lady Gaga of Japan, proving that the rest of the world should just let Japan make the decision as to which pop star gets to sit at the top of the rainbow, because they are never wrong. Speaking of rainbows, I have never craved chocolate covered Skittles until I got me a sliver of Jonté.
The pixie sprite love child of Ruby Rhod and a Max Headroom/Jermaine Jackson swirl LIVES and we should all fall back as he covers us with rhinestone dust.
Jonté is always sashaying THIS way, okay?
In order to fit into a pair of -10 jeans, Karl Lagerfeld’s entire digestive system was removed, so now he gets his nutrients from feeding off of the gasps the audience at his fashion shows make when he sends a $3,000 cob web tunic down the runway. And he also gets life when he listens to the remaining fat on a model eating away at itself after she snorts a line of the bad shit. So because of this, I thought it was a little crotch-scratching strange when Magnum ice cream hired Karl to directed their commercial starring Rachel Bilson.
I used to think that Karl Lagerfeld and ice cream went together like Donald Trump and common sense. But Kunty Karl tells W Magazine that he’s actually a perfect fit since his father was a milkman of sorts and he looooooves chocolate even if it never passes through his zombie lips.
So why ice cream?
Don’t forget my father was a milkman. He produced Carnation milk in Europe under different names, so I like to say he was a milkman. And ice cream is made with milk, no?Do you eat it?
I would love to if I was allowed to eat sugar, but my doctor told me that sugar wasn’t needed for me so I haven’t touched it in ten years. I also did the ad for Dom Pérignon and I don’t
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We’re in a recession right now and movie theater M&M’s are really expensive, so why not let Alec Baldwin and Page Six teach you how to get chocolate deliciousness into your mouth without opening up your pocket book. It’s pretty simple. Just annoy the crap out of someone to the point where they are willing to part with their candy. FOOLS!
Page Six says that at a screening for Blue Valentine at the Hamptons Film Festival over the weekend, Alec Baldwin murdered the nerves of those around him by texting during the movie. A source explains what happened next, “He was on his phone the whole time, and the light was disturbing others. But he stopped quickly once somebody started throwing M&M missiles.”
SEE! Just text your way to sugary dingles. Yes, there’s a chance that they might launch bullets and/or fists at you instead of M&M’s, but that’s a risk worth taking. Besides, the threat of swallowing your own blood will make those M&M’s taste that much more delicious.
Score 1 for Elisabetta Canalis. And score 0 for her “jeliz fat ugly haterz“. Elisabetta Canalis tore George Clooney away from his dildo chair (don’t worry, it will heal) to take him over to her home island of Sardinia to meet her parents Cesare and Bruna.
In between sightseeing and dinner with Elisabetta’s parents, George signed autographs and hugged and kissed all the locals. At one point, People says George posed for a picture with someone’s baby when a trick in the crowd (who Elisabetta probably paid) screamed in Italian “Ora tocca a te! [It's your turn now!]“ A witness said, “Clooney obviously didn’t understand, but everyone turned to look at Elisabetta. She simply smiled.”
Elisabetta wasn’t smiling because the sight of George Clooney with a baby made her womb coo. No, bitch smiled because she pictured the baby as a giant bag of money. You would smile too.
Speaking of meeting the parents, let’s all share our own stories. My ass doesn’t have a lot of “meet the parents stories” to tell since most of the bitches I date live by the “Don’t Bring a Dumb Slut Home to Mom” rule. But when I was 19, my boyfriend at the time really wanted me to meet his mom. When we first started dating, he told me that his mom hated his gayness and therefore automatically hated all of his boyfriends. That’s always fun. I only agreed to go, because we were meeting her at a chocolate shop she worked at. And well, I figured being called a “sinning fudge packer” while nibbling on a piece fudge would be a good memory to stick in the scrap book in my
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