I just finished reading Brett Martin’s profile of Bill Murray for the January issue of GQ, and while the story and Murray are highly entertaining, I’m tiring of reading profiles in which Murray simultaneously demonstrates how funny and how aimless he is.
Martin observes that Murray has become a kind of “wandering, perpetual performance artist, everywhere and nowhere, wherever the wind or spirit carries him: indie movies, golf tournaments, college frat parties, your karaoke booth right now.”
I appreciate that Murray likes being the Johnny Appleseed of meta-comedy, but I think it’s time for him to stop spreading joy to a handful of people at a time and get back to making thousands of people in cineplexes across the country aspirate Diet Coke because they’re laughing so hard.
Here’s the passage in the story that most makes me want to chuck my vintage Ghostbusters wallet in the East River. It’s Murray talking about how he’s thinking about writing and making a funny movie again:
“It’s really a question I have. I think there’s something that I can bring to a comedy today, but I don’t know where to bring it,” he says. “I’ve actually thought about having a manager again. Just to clear my head and have a plan.” He pauses, as if working it out in his mind. “Eh, it’s not that attractive to have a plan. I know that if I ever feel that I need to make a funny movie, I’ll figure out how to write one. I’ll get it done. If I ever get some ambition, I’m gonna get some shit done.”
He does a mock-offended eye roll/blink. “What? It could happen.”
That comment is only slightly more energetic than Murray’s comments to Full Story »
To save her floating turd of a network from completely sinking to the bottom of the toilet bowl, Oprah shoved herself into a full body condom and got into bed with whores. Godprah joined forces with the harlot heffas of HELL for an interview airing this holy Sunday on OWN.
I know that OWN has become that struggling, broke down, thirsty hooker who has lost its prime corner on the best part of the stroll and is now lucky to get a wooden coin for a sloppy handjob behind a Datsun parked in the alley, but has it really come to this? Was Courtney Stodden not available for an interview? Tan Mom? OctoMom? The Hot Dog Hooker? Literally ANYBODY but the Kuntrashians? How the Mighty O has fallen into the whore pit viper pit.
So far clips of the interview have been the same, re-hashed crap. Was the obviously staged wedding staged? NEVER! Is Khloe’s biological father one of the neanderthals in the Natural History Musuem? NOT! But then Oprah asked Rob and the KKKs (that sounds like the name of the #1 band in Hell) about Pimp Mama Kris’ pimping ways:
O: What do you say to people, and you’ve heard it, when people say your mother is pimping her children.
Kim: I think that’s so ridiculous.
Rob: She’s our mom.
Kim: First of all, we have to hire a manager. So regardless somebody
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Full Story »Get excited: “After eight years, the Australian actor Paul Hogan, best known for his Crocodile Dundee movies, has resolved his dispute with the authorities there, who said he and his former manager, John Cornell, owed $156 million in unpaid taxes and penalties dating to the 1980s heyday of the film series. [...] As the settlement was announced Mr. Hogan’s lawyer, Andrew Robinson, criticized the tax inquiry as a waste of taxpayers’ money, saying it may have cost more than $20 million. He also suggested that Mr. Hogan, who has largely been inactive in recent years, might soon be back with a new project. ‘Who knows, now that this monkey is off his back?’ Mr. Robinson said.” [NYT]
Because Lindsay Lohan is such a serious homebody who sits at home sipping distilled room-temperature water while writing the cue cards she’ll use for her comeback masterpiece role in that Elizabeth Taylor shit for Lifetime, she was at Sayers Club in Hollywood until 12 this morning. Because Lindsay Lohan is Lindsay Lohan and even a fresh coat of ginge on her weave can’t keep her from being a professional fuck up, she hit a dude in the knee with her Porsche before driving away. Take a sip of your morning speed, let it marinate for a second and then say it with me: THIS DUMB BITCH.
The story from TMZ is actually kind of funny and seems like a scam White Oprah would come up with on the spot. LiLo was backing out of the parking lot while surrounded by the paparazzi when her car grazed the knee of a dude who manages the nearby Hookah Lounge (New York Post Headline: HOOKAH MANAGER HIT BY HOOKAH!). LiLo drove away without getting out of her car to check to see if the dude’s knee was alright while stealing his wallet with her other hand (missed opportunity, LiLo!). The cops arrived, but TMZ seems to think that they were only there, because LiLo called them earlier to protect her from the paparazzi.
Right after LiLo hit that dude, he told the paparazzi that he was
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Either Paula Deen has an orange mic on her second chin or that’s a Cheetos mole and “backbackBritneybackback” will soon replace the n-word as her favorite phrase. You know Our Lady of Cheetos is going to try to gnaw that thing off.
The n-word I’m talking about is not “nobuttah.” A stick of margarine would pass between Paula’s lips before that word (yes, it’s one word in the south) does. I’m talking about the other n-word. So, Paula Deen and her brother Bubba Hiers (government name: BUBBA HIERS) co-own Bubba’s Oyster and Seafood House in Savannah, GA and they’ve both been sued by the former general manager of the restaurant for throwing all kinds of deep fried fuckery at her during the 5 years she worked there.
Radar says that in the lawsuit filed in Georgia on Monday, the former GM Lisa Jackson claims Bubba brought the following foolery on her:
- Created a porn prison around her by always watching fuck films on his computer in the small office she shared with him.
- Showed her the printout of an email with the subject line “Why Gay Marriage Should Be Legal” and a picture of two ladies coochie bumping below it.
- Bubba once grabbed Lisa’s face and told her that he loved her. Romance.
- Bubba forced the black employees to only use the bathroom in the back while letting the white
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After hearing that Amy Winehouse died on Saturday, Lindsay Lohan cut the pipe that runs from the Smirnoff factory directly to her faucets, deleted the Find-A-Dealer app from her iPhone, strapped herself to the back of the wagon and vowed to only drink distilled water from now on. No. Bitch must’ve slept through that wake up call, because Radar says she got sneaky drunk instead.
A source tells Radar that LiLo started her night at Chateau Marmont, where she kept her tongue off of the booze. When the party moved to the Pailhouse Hotel, LiLo showed up sober and only ordered cranberry juices from the waitress. But like most hos surrounded by drunks getting drunker, LiLo started to get thirsty for the nectar of the gods and snuck a few lemon drop shots down her froat. LiLo ordered a couple of martinis but tried to say they were for her friends. When the martinis showed up, one of LiLo’s friends shot the waitress a look that said, “Don’t give those to her.” A few vodka shots and one martini later, LiLo was officially a sloppy mess of a drunk and got bitchy with her date, Ozzy from Survivor (random shit alert), because she thought he was trying to get down he chonies of another ho.
You didn’t think that it could get any sadder than fighting for Ozzy
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Well, this is making me feel a new kind of sad. Teena Marie, a bright shining star of my childhood, Rick James’ protégée and the angel who created hits like Lovergirl, I Need Your Lovin’ and Ooo La La La, has floated off to heaven at the young age of 54. Teena’s manager brings us the tragic news that she passed away in her sleep on Christmas night at her home in California. Teena’s daughter Alia Rose reportedly found her this morning.
As of right now, Teena’s cause of death isn’t known. Teena’s manager said that she suffered a seizure last month, but no other information was given. Sometime yesterday, Teena Tweeted this:
Sarah Vaughan “May You never grow old, and may I never die”…
Oh, Teena 
She will live on forever thanks to her voice which is the reason why sequins sparkles and thanks to my cousins who still play her Irons in the Fire cassette at almost every family reunion.
Rest in peace, Teena. The piece of my childhood that choreographed a dance to Lovergirl in my living room died today too.
A few days ago comedian Greg Giraldo found himself laid up in a hospital bed after he accidentally overdosed on prescription pills. Friends found Greg in his New Jersey hotel room after he didn’t show up to a scheduled show. Greg was rushed to the hospital and listed in critical condition. Greg’s manager said the overdose was accidental and he wasn’t trying to commit suicide.
Sadly, Greg died today at the age of 44. TMZ says that Greg was surrounded by his family at the time of his death.
Greg was a judge on Last Comic Standing and he most recently gave it to The Hoff in Comedy Central’s annual roast:
Rest in peace, Greg. Here’s to you roasting the angels up in heaven!
