Pimp Mama Kris recently said that her main prized pig Kim Kuntrashian has such a giving soul (more like giving hole) and always quietly gives to charity without getting any attention for doing so. Pimp Mama Kris proved to be right yesterday when Kim graciously took a break from her busy schedule of being the whoring whore of all whoring whores to feed the homeless at the Los Angeles Mission while surrounded by a team of bodyguards, half a dozen paparazzos, a make-up artist, a hairstylist, a camera crew and the souls of a dozen dead turkeys eye rolling at this blatant publicity stunt. TOTALLY INCOGNITO!
Jennifer Love Hewitt is where the word “desperate” goes to feel better about itself and yet she still doesn’t look 1/10th as desperate as Kim looks. Just look at this transparent trollop dressed like “real people” and acting like she didn’t drop that ladle and run to her chauffeured SUV the minute the cameras stopped clicking. Kim could find the cure for cancer in her queefs while curing a dozen orphans of the urinary retention they suffer from by baring her ass (Fact: When Kim bares her ass, the piss just comes shooting out of your piss hole), and we’d still see her as a fame whoring STUNT QUEEN heffa whore. That is the truest story ever told.
And haven’t the homeless people been through enough? They’re already homeless and then they had to sit there while a skank gave them their meal. They came for Thanksgiving dinner, not Skanksgiving dinner.
The opening scene of Sean Durkin’s debut feature Martha Marcy May Marlene suggests we’re in for a big rusty bread pan’s worth of rural miserablism, and even though we’re not, the yeasty grayness of those early moments is clearly intentional: A group of women in drab dresses and droopy T-shirts go about preparing dinner in a house whose unfinished interior looks either new and hastily erected or ancient and about to fall apart — it’s hard to tell which. A young boy stomps about in a dusty, scrubby yard; a woman sits on the porch working on a crocheted afghan. When dinner’s ready, a bunch of men sit down to eat; then they leave the table — the man who appears to be the leader murmurs something appreciative about the meal — and the women take their places. Then there’s one lone shot of a ton of dirty dishes jumbled into and around the kitchen sink — there’s no question who’s going to be scouring them clean. It’s as if Amishtown had been taken over by a nicer version of the Manson family.
Or maybe they’re not so nice. But what makes Martha Marcy May Marlene so beguiling — aside from the performance given by its lead actress, Elizabeth Olsen — is that the pall of creepy groupthink that hovers over that first scene works as a perverse kind of seduction: You want to know more about this place, and about these people, even though you suspect that knowing more may not be a good idea. Even if you think…
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Once your knees get off of the floor from bowing since your lessons at Gloria Starr finishing school taught you to kneel before royal objects of elegance, bask again in the beauty CoCo graced Miami Beach with this afternoon. This is what a Christmas ham dinner on the angels’ dinner table looks like in heaven. I bet she farts out pineapple rings.
Those of you in the Miami area might’ve wondered why it didn’t feel as humid as usual (just nod, lie to me, just nod), it’s because CoCo’s delicate derriere hole can suck the moisture out of a rock hard rock. And CoCo’s nalgitas a’plenty is the opposite of a rock hard rock, it’s like two moons wrapped in cashmere skin. Don’t you just want to throw a picnic blanket under it and feed your piece of the moment chocolate covered grapes and sips of cherry wine before tickling them in the nose with a red carnation? I was going to write “a red rose” instead of a “red carnation,” but then I saw that CoCo has roses on the thong that’s giving her butt a pap smear, and I didn’t want a Dirty Sanchez to dirty up that image.
How would you like to be married to someone for a few years and have sex only a handful of times. Well, that is exactly the type of marriage a former A list movie actress and Academy Award winner/nominee has with her celebrity husband. They do always seem a little strained. Maybe a quickie would help. (CDAN)
Two things: Isn’t this how most marriages play out and how the hell do they know? Did they hear it straight from the horse’s vagina? Or in this case, the fish’s vagina, because I’m going to go with Chris Martin and Fishsticks Paltrow? He’s a big cunt and she’s always got her head up her ass, so that makes it hard for them to do it. Not worth the effort. If this is them, it explains everything.
This A list singer recently broke up with her celebrity boyfriend because she was cheating on him and he found out. Hey, it happens and probably not blind item worthy. However, it is who she was cheating on him with that caused all the drama. Lets just say the entire world would freak out if they knew this singer was having sex with this other singer. Oh yeah, this will be revealed. Don’t you worry about that. (CDAN)
Let’s just say it’s Charo and Tom Jones, and not RiRi and Chris Brown.
This famous celebrity
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When Lindsay Lohan came stumbling out of a Hollywood club early yesterday morning like a dozen booze bottles just ran a train on her mouth, we all knew she would put the blame on everything and everybody but herself. LiLo is not one to let us down, so she just done just that! Last night, Delusion gently cradled LiLo in its arms and softly padded her back so that she could burp this out on her Twatter:
Of course me going to my best friends going away dinner is a headline- especially on my first day out of my house in 35 days. That does not give anyone the right to have a field day and manifest stories. IT WAS A GOING AWAY DINNER, THAT WAS IT. Nothing exciting happened aside from the very yummy hummus and pita. If anyone caused me to nearly fall it was the pyschotic paparazzi…. off to the gym now- have a lovely day xo
LiLo also posted the picture above of her shoe, so just to recap, this drunk bitch is blaming: THE SHOES! THE PAPARAZZI! THE HUMMUS! THE PLANET for spinning to fast causing 5 hours to feel like 5 minutes! THE EVERYTHING!
Unless someone secretly switched bitch’s shoes with a pair of flask heels with a syringe in the inset that injected booze directly into her foot veins (someone should invent this) or the chickpeas in the hummus came
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A few days ago I checked one of the fashion blogs I occasionally visit and noticed that the French fashion photographer and blogger Garance Doré was here in Cannes, shooting a portfolio for French jeweler Chopard, a sponsor of the festival. Her first post details how, when she first arrived, she told her chauffeur as he drove her down the Croisette, “I hate the show business, the evening gowns, and red carpets. Seriously now… That’s why I thought I’d never set foot again at the Festival de Cannes.” He responded, “I’m sorry mademoiselle, that just won’t do. You just have to jump in and live it, or else I’ll have to take you right back to the airport. Cannes is amazing, and you gotta love it all: the sun, the crazies, the films, the stars, the weirdos and the soirées.”
He was right about all of it. In her first and subsequent posts from Cannes, Doré (above) detailed how she came to embrace Cannes, especially since Chopard decided she should “live the Cannes experience full on” — an experience that began, well, with sending a chauffeur to pick her up. But do you need a chauffeur, and the sponsorship of a mondo joaillier, to do the Festival de Cannes right? As the event winds down — I’m here through Sunday night, and today I notice the Palais and the Croisette are far less clogged with people — I’ve had some time to reflect on my own full-on…
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Bridesmaids — arguably the best all-female ensemble comedy since E!’s original Kourtney and Khloe Take Level-One Second City Courses — was a smash over the weekend. And no one knows that better than director Paul Feig and co-star Melissa McCarthy, who stood outside a theater this weekend waiting for a seat. And waiting.
In an interview with Vulture, Feig and McCarthy admit they had a hard time getting into their own cineplex triumph.
What were you doing this weekend when Bridesmaids opened? Were you breathlessly watching box-office reports?
bq.Feig: We actually had dinner Saturday night, the night that was kind of our do-or-die night, and, um, we had gotten reports that it was going well Friday, but then Saturday we weren’t sure. So when we were eating dinner, I actually got an e-mail that said we were up 40 percent from Friday and were kind of a bona fide hit. So we celebrated. We went to the theater, couldn’t get in because it was sold out, so stood on the side and watched people enjoy it. So it was nice.
They let you in to stand?
bq. Feig: Yeah. You have a thing where you can say, “I’m the director and she’s in the cast,” they’ll let you in for five minutes.
Don’t you know who I am?
bq. Feig: Yeah, right. Exactly: “Hey you … ” It’s Hollywood.
bq. McCarthy: It’s such an incredible thing, they’re like, “There are no seats.” We’re like, “Lovely.” I’ve never been so happy to not get a seat at the theater in my life.
You know who else is lovely? Melissa McCarthy. I met her and you can trust me. How about that?
· Paul Feig and Melissa McCarthy Celebrated ‘Bridesmaids’ with High-Fives and Boozing
[Vulture]
It may have been released last year, but I think we can agree that short films about dinner table anarchy and Nazi confrontation are a cinematic evergreen. Lost scribe Damon Lindelof’s strange 10-minute romp centers around Dade Klublershturf (Samm Levine of Freaks and Geeks), who brings home his German girlfriend (Rachel Nichols) to bewildered parents played by the awesome Lainie Kazan and George Segal (whose work here is the closest thing you’ll see to a hybrid of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf and Just Shoot Me). Then a pre-Thor Chris Hemsworth joins the fun as a smiley member of the Fourth Reich. Makes perfect sense, no? Watch after the jump.
Beware of thundering fart noises, Norman Reedus as Hemsworth’s Teutonic buddy (they’re so cute in their Kraftwerk-red shirts!) and more madcap mentions of “retardation” and Nazism than is advisable for a Monday. Awesomely, Kazan compares Hemsworth to “Conan” at one point, foreshadowing his superhero future with delightful clarity.
· Short Starts: ‘Thor’ Star Chris Hemsworth in “Ollie Klublershturf vs. The Nazis [Spout]
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I don’t have 1% of the soothsaying powers Shanti Ananda (formerly known as Walter Mercado) has, but I’m willing to bet my EVERYTHING that Judge Stephanie Saunter will be welcomed into her Easter family dinner on Sunday with a wave of claps, a dozen high-fives and a damn parade led by Peeps, because she sentenced Lindsay Lohan to 120 days in jail. After the preliminarily hearing for LiLo’s grand theft case, Judge Stephanie lowered the felony charge to a misdemeanor, but then gave it to her real by declaring that she violated her probation and sentenced her to 120 days in jail. On top of that, she got 480 hours of community service. The good news is that LiLo is already a highly skilled supermugshotmodel, so she turned Lynwood into a Glamour Shots studio with her posing.
The other good news is that LiLo’s lawyer filed an appeal and the $75,000 bail was immediately paid. TMZ says that she’s already skipped into Lynwood, smiled for the mug shot camera, shot the shit with her old friends and then sashayed right back out. LiLo was in there for about 5 hours.
Somebody needs to get the justice system a jar of Vaseline and a Band-Aid, because I’m sure it’s asshole is pretty much all kinds of chafed due to
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Contrary to Gwyneth Paltrow’s belief, not every ho wants to sit on an antique farmhouse chair (imported from wherever the rarest antique farmhouse chairs exist) and sip from a bowl of liquefied black pearls while telling their pretentious cunt friends how most tiresome it is that a bald eagle chose to nest on the exact cliff where they want to build their early autumn mountain chalet (SPOILER ALERT: they bull dozed that nest down). And one of those Not Every Hos is Fishsticks’ very own husband Chris Martin.
According to Popeater, Chris was a guest at a dinner party to celebrate Fishy’s new cookbook and he gave the same pout his wife gives when her semi-private fishmonger (IN THIS ECONOMY, she has to share a fishmonger with the McCartneys and the royals) tells her that they’re all out of Osetra caviar. Apparently, Chris’ glumcuntface let everyone know that he would rather be sucking off a chainsaw than sitting with his wife’s friends.
When Chris arrived, reporters were told that he didn’t want to talk to anyone. Chris camped out in a corner and shriveled inside every time he had to hold a conversation with the likes of Martha Stewart and Mario Batali.
I subliminally threw Chris a “suck it up, cunt” look until I read what Jessica Seinfeld said before dinner began: “You are all so lucky to be
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