Okay, maybe it’s not dripping with candy-coated elegance, but it’s definitely dripping with something, because my eyeballs are sticky in a bad way and the rest of my day will be spent scrubbing my retinas with a Chore Boy and two cans of Ajax (with BLEACH!). Speaking of Chore Boys, everybody who helped in the making of the porn iguana’s debut music video was obviously smoking from a Chore Boy crack pipe, because this is an illegal mess.
If you’ve ever wondered what a Skinemax movie would look like if a perma-horny, cotton-mouthed iguana in a thirsty weave was cast as the lead, you’ll get your answer when you watch Courtney Stodden’s video for her auto-tuned as fuck single “Reality.” Courtney’s video has a budget of zero (that’s being generous), all of the sophisticated ensembles she’s wearing were snatched from a dumpster behind a third-tier stripper shop on Hollywood Blvd. and several laws were broken while making this.
I couldn’t find an embeddable clip, which probably isn’t a bad thing, because Dlisted has been hit with way too many fake Malware warnings this week and it really doesn’t need another one. So you have to go to E! to watch Courtney’s latest assault on your soul. You should run the shower before you hit play, because you will want to jump into it afterward.
That being said, Courtney’s video is a complicated piece of art and I’m sure that the authority on all things artistic, James Franco, will teach an entire course on it at RISD in the fall.
If one of my relatives handed me this magazine before saying “I got my first cover!“, I’d grab it, frame it with the finest frame Aaron Brothers had to offer and hang it with pride right over my fireplace (aka radiator). Every time someone (aka my dealer or the Fresh Direct guy) came over, I’d brag about the jewel of my family by showing them the cover. Then after I eventually learned the truth and found out my family member’s on the cover of “Where” magazine and not “Whore” magazine, I’d rip it off the wall and throw it into the trash where it belongs. Then I’d curse the art director at Where magazine for fucking with my emotions.
via Buzzfeed
Canadian DListed readers, we’re going to need you bitches to pipe in. Is this true? If you’re a certain ethnicity, you don’t have to pay at the pumps? Or am I even more challenged than I thought I was for wondering if this is accurate.
In his recent Rolling Stone interview (the one with the recycled Lohan header), the Little Lesbian That Could (Justin Bieber) told the reporter that he was an Eskimo (is that word allowed? I stopped using “tranny” so I get credit for that, right?) and that being a…native Canadian(? I’m lost when it comes to politically correct terms for Canada) entitled him to free Hess. Huh?
“I’m actually part Indian. I think Inuit or something? I’m enough per cent that in Canada I can get free gas, ” Bieber said. Probably while texting. This sounds like something a dumb person would say while not paying attention because he’s busy trying to find an emoticon that sums up “so jelly of those sneaks, girl”.
A disgruntled roadie obviously told him this in jest because fucking with the star is funny and that leg of the tour was almost over. He also probably thinks he doesn’t have to open his own mail because he’s a Pieces.
If this IS true, we should implement this program in other places. Howabout letting us fag-o-trons skip paying for
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Full Story »I hate those dumb piece of trash ass bitches who lose their minds over women feeding their babies in public, because if it wasn’t for them there wouldn’t be a need for this PSA starring a baby with terrifying CGI dentures. A talking baby is one thing, but a baby with veneers like a Real Housewife is another. The Louisville Mayor’s Office is crazy for this one. Who really wants to breastfeed a baby with huge chompers like that? Breastfeeding is supposed to be a bonding experience and how can you bond with your baby when she’s spitting out chewed up pieces of your nipple meat? When crazies start making straws for your nipples, you can blame this ad.
And Come On Everybody Dot Org?! Now I know who took Dlisted’s original name.
via Buzzfeed
Hollywood has Angelyne, Beverly Hills has Quween on the Scene, London has Layla Flaherty, New York has too many to name and Austin had Leslie, a Texas icon who made the job of the local Parks and Recreation Department easier by bringing his twinkling charisma and priceless style to the streets. Austin is a little less weirder today, because Leslie passed away at the age of 60 in a hospice this morning.
KXAN (Thanks to Rachel & Anna for sending this in) reports that Albert Leslie Cochran was hospitalized last month before he was transferred to a hospice. Leslie’s health was never the same after he underwent brain surgery in 2009 for an injury he suffered when he fell in front of a taxi late one night. That wasn’t Leslie’s first head injury. Before Leslie moved to Austin over 20 years ago, he busted his head something serious in a motorcycle accident in Colorado.
Leslie, who was married for a quick second, worked as a truck driver and a disc jockey before he entertained the masses in Austin by sashaying around in a nalgas-bearing thong. Leslie also ran for a mayor a few times and advocated for the rights of the city’s homeless. One of Leslie’s friends Christine Ann, a shop owner, had this to say about Austin’s special rose:
“Leslie lived outside the box. He exemplified that, but also spoke … passionately that
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The sheer power of Whitney Houston brought Dlisted down to its gutter whore knees on Saturday night and even after I patched the server up with a piece of chewed gum and the insides of a used condom I found in front of my apartment, it still came down again for a second yesterday. Then today, it went down again (Note: Between the server and I, at least one of us is going down if you know what I mean.), and my server tells me this time it was a network-wide related issue. I have a hard time believing that only because three seconds before Dlisted crashed again, I hit the refresh button and it screamed “KISS MY ASS” at me. They tell me everything is fixed now, so hopefully it is. Trust me, if I could hook Dlisted up to the powerful power source that is Hamster Dog, I would, but that bitch won’t talk to me ever since I said I was racist against big dogs.
Please accept this picture of Harper Seven flipping me off baby-style as an apology gift for all of the site’s fuck-ups.
So the speculation is true. Despite a denial an few hours ago that all was sunshine and rainbows and nobody was getting served walking papers, TMZ now says that cromagnon Russell Brand filed for divorce from Crayola titties Katy Perry today in LA, citing “irreconcilable differences”. Well they’re both pretty irreconcialably um, “different” so this is not much of a shock.
I hate to go on a right to gay marriage rant (no I don’t) but they were married in October of last year. Sinead and her hubby called it quits after just a couple of weeks. The divine Liz Taylor was married eight times. So what the fuck is this “sanctity” people scream about? People promise to stay together until death, but then won’t even honor the promise by hiring a hit-man. Lazy. Seriously, shit like this right here makes me wonder why the gays aren’t allowed to break contracts left and right like us straights.
That’s why I just live in sin, sleeping with anyone with a six pack and a couple of joints. It’s so much easier to just sneak out a window half dressed in the middle of the night than show up in court and divide my shit up. And yes, I do feel the burning shame of giving Russell and Katy so much time in the precious Dlisted spotlight. Or is that the burn in my no-no region from my last drunk hook-up? Whatever, it hurts.
TMZ
The Christmas angels in Chicago have given the Internet a holiday miracle this year and that miracle is called Jan Terri’s comeback! YAASSS! When you first walk through the broken gates of the Internet, you immediately see a welcome sign with Jan Terri’s “Losing You” video on it. Jan Terri is the soundtrack of our Internet lives. And after years of praying for her return, she is back with the perfect holiday song for you to sing to yourself while you’re three Lohans to the wind and locked in the bathroom to get away from your family. I’ll hum this song while cutting into a piece of holiday tiramisu at an Olive Garden in Rome. They have Olive Garden in Italy, right?
This year, my family decided to skip the giving presents shit and instead we’re really getting neck deep into the holiday spirit by torturing and annoying each other while traveling all around Italy for a week. I’ve already come up with a drinking game. Every time my sister asks if they have any gluten-free pasta, I’ll shoot myself. No, she’s not going to ask that, because she’s bringing her own (no joke). Anyway, I will still blog something every day, but while I’m seeing all the beautiful sights of Italy (examples: the alley way where Snooki passed out, the STD clinic built in The Situation’s name) seasoned Dlisted guest blogger Sweetas and J. Harvey, formerly of Socialite Life and
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Disclaimer: The views, opinions or positions expressed by Joan Henrietta Collins are hers alone, and does not necessarily reflect the views, opinions, or positions of Dlisted.com even though they probably should since Joan Collins is a personal glamourssiah of Dlisted.com’s, but I don’t want to get my nostrils torn out by my Japanese uncle’s pocket knife when I call him a “Chinaman” and I don’t want my cousin to karate chop my adam’s apple when I call her an “orca-sized oaf.“
There’s a lot of dusty opinions under Joan Collins’ exquisite wig and she let some of them out when talking to the Daily Mail about her new memoirs. Joan’s head is usually filled with diamond dust and champagne bubbles, but it’s also filled with the image of a fat person trying to use the toilet on a plane and the image of Warren Beatty failing to make her oyster push out a pearl. Joan straightened her wig, raised her nose, pulled up her fan and let these out:
On ladies dressing like Kurt Cobain: “I don’t do grunge. Any woman over a certain age should not be grungy. You must make yourself look the way you would like the world to think about you.”
On how only Justin Bieber should wear a shift dress: “All women look awful in shift dresses, even Nicole Kidman.
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What better way is there to thank my guest bloggers, Sweetas and Jack-n-the-Hat, than with a whole lot of red, white, blue and ginge? (Put down your invoices Sweetas and Jack, that question was rhetorical.) There isn’t a better way. So this is how I am giving my thanks to Sweetas and Jack for taking time out from talking shit and getting drunk to talk shit and get drunk for Dlisted while I was out showing my auntie and mom the sights of New York City (“On your right, is Williamsburg’s famous Mt. Trash Bags and on your left is our proud dirty condom and dog shit art installation.” – me to my auntie).
I am freak of the control variety and am addicted to shade throwing so I didn’t get away from my laptop as much as I would’ve liked to. But when I did, I could count on Sweetas and Jack to be your substitute shit talkers, and they get an A grade for me. They would’ve gotten an A+, but there was an uncomfortable incident involving a drunk e-mail and a pictures of external organs I still can’t positively identify (I’m not naming names).
When I have to undergo an entire plastic surgery makeover (skin dying, pec implants, bicep transplants, hair plugs on my ass cheeks, a washboard installed under
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