George Clooney

As Brad Pitt silently cried for help with his eyes, Angie Jo fed the whore pit vipers crawling under her skin (yeah, those aren't veins) by sucking the pieces of his good shit-soaked soul that are clinging to his insides for dear life. You know, I'm all for shamelessley Angie succubus-ing Brad in front of everyone, but while she was that close to him she should've used her fangs to chew most of his mop off. Not only would eating Brad's strands of grease give Angie some much needed nutrients, but then he wouldn't look like he's a Taco Party Pack and a Miley grope away from being Bradley Ray Cyrus. One would think that a dude would do whatever he can to keep Tish Cyrus from wanting to wet ride him until her cock eye busts into place.

And it warms my soul knowing that Angie's stylist kept their lips shut when they stood back, looked at this and thought to themselves: "This bitch literally looks like a bag of bones." Seriously, somewhere there's a trash can missing its bag and a pair of chopsticks who are feeling all sorts of inadequate while looking at Angie's arms. I bet that dress smells like cold death, dried tar and black licorice.

Here's more of St. Morticia, Brad, his true soulmate George Clooney and Stacy Keibler at the SAGs last night.

As soon everybody on the red carpet at last night's GGs got over the shock of seeing Angie Jolie not wearing a laundry bag of a dress in the color of black grave dirt, their blood veins started shaking out of a fear since she had the look of hunger sparkling in her eyes as she dragged Pepaw Brad behind her. Never mind that Angie's dress made her look like a rolled napkin at a Valentine's Day party, I couldn't get past her terrifying vampire face. I know that Angie always looks like she's just been floating above the cobblestones in Transylvania in search of a village virgin to feast on, but last night I wore a garlic choker and a clip-on crucifix nipple ring, because she looked like she was trying to drain my blood with her eyes. Even Vincent Price was like, "Too far, Angie. Too far."

And this skinny ho really needs to do a dollop of Daisy on all the veins she's about to eat from. But before Angie ate all of the children from Modern Family in the parking garage of the Beverly Hilton, I hope she gave Brad a hug. He needed one after his brofriend, George Clooney, went from singing "I only have eyes for Brad" to singing "I only have eyes for Michael Fassbender's peen" while accepting his Best Actor trophy:

“I would like to thank Michael Fassbender for taking over the frontal nude responsibly that I had. Really Michael, honestly, you can play golf like this with your hands behind your back. Go for it man, do it!"

And just like that, Brad's heart crumbled the same way the ground behind George's Italian villa crumbled after he told his contractor to build a private golf course for Michael Assbender and him. Michael Fassbender's peen is the new Brad Pitt.

"There's a taxi waiting outside for you, sweetie" is the line that slipped off of George Clooney's tongue to Stacy Keibler at the Critics Choice Awards in L.A. last night after Brad Pitt hobbled in saint-less. It was a brodate at the CCAs! Just look at those pictures of Brad making the silver hairs in George's ears quiver by whispering into it. Try to tell me that Brad and George's chemistry is not shooting an Atlantic Starr into your head.

Anyway, Brad showed up alone last night, because Angie Jolie was off doing a live web chat with Marie Claire to promote In the Blood and Honey (click here to see the live chat with a cameo by Maddox...sort of). During the Q&A, Angie confessed that right before her first day of directing, she slowly melted down in the shower like Jennifer Aniston when she finds out that she's out of uncooked cookie dough-scented body wash.

"I had a complete emotional breakdown in the shower and Brad found me crying. I felt this huge responsibility and I felt very small. 'Who am I to take this on?'

I didn't plan to become a director, and I still have trouble saying I'm a director. I just wanted to tell this story and I ended up by default being the director. It was a pleasure, but I wonder if it would be a pleasure with another cast and crew, and a subject matter that wasn't so special."

Oh, please. The real reason Angie shriveled into a puddle of frightened emotions and almost slipped down the drain is because a drop of Suave Strawberry Smoothie shampoo accidentally fell in her mouth and eating the extra calories scared her. Angie didn't feel small. She felt HUUUUUGEEEEE! But seriously, Angie's shower time breakdown got Brad Pitt into the shower finally, so it's a good thing it happened. The next time the Pig-Pen in your life refuses to bathe, just have a mental breakdown in the shower and he'll come running to your rescue before he realizes you're about to drop a soap bomb on him.

During an episode of one of my favorite soft-core fake reality shows Gigolos, Brace the Krueger Face bragged to his co-whores that his sperm is so coveted by gold diggers that some of them have come up with creatively shady ways to knock themselves up with it. Brace claims that one gold digger let him cum in her mouth just so she could run to the bathroom, spit it into a turkey baster and shove the whole thing up her vagina while praying that her ovaries are feeling hungry. This trick would never work on George Clooney, because I'm pretty sure thanks to a few snips his dick water doesn't have any fishes swimming in it.

George has made it perfectly clear that the only children he wants living in his houses are the of-age ones who sign a contract and smile really pretty-like when they escort him to one of his premieres. George doesn't want kids. This is not brand new information. But that didn't stop the child actress who plays his daughter in that Descendants movie from reminding George that he would make a shit father. UsWeekly asked 11-year-old Amara Miller if she thinks George Clooney would make a good father and this was her priceless response:

"Let me just say, he wouldn't be good as a father. He wouldn't be the best as a father. George likes being an adult. George has fun being an adult, and I don't think he would like having kids. I know that he's not planning on having kids anytime soon."

And when asked if George kept in touch with her after filming, Amara said:

"He was just a really phenomenal person to work with. [But] we don't really keep in touch anymore. He's George Clooney… No one really keeps in touch with him anymore!"

I like this Amara Miller and let's just hope that Hollywood doesn't taint her gift for speaking the truth. Let's also hope that she remembers her words when in 10 years The George Clooney Red Carpet Escort Agency asks her to come in for an interview. Just say nope.

We might have finally found the one thing that can break George Clooney's anti-marriage vow and not surprisingly it's farts! They say a way to George Clooney's heart is through farts and they're right. George Clooney loves farts. George Clooney could kiss a fart. George Clooney could suck a fart out of a fart's fart hole. George Clooney could sit next to a fart in a restaurant booth. George Clooney could marry a fart if a fart knew how to fart out the word "yes." George Clooney could give a fart a key to his Lake Coma villa. Every time a butt farts, a George Clooney laughs. That's how much George Clooney loves farts.

In an interview with Rolling Stone, George shared his love of the other queef and also talked about how he lost his virginity at 16 and once had underage sex with a rope (cut to Jerry Sandusky praying to come back as a rope in his next life). The fart usually comes at the end of the meal so I'll save that quote for last.

On people not seeing The Ides of March: "It's not designed for everybody to see, but I don't give a shit. I don't need to be more famous and we shot it for $12 million, so anything we do is nice."

On having dry sex with a rope: "I believe it was while climbing a rope when I was six or seven years old. I mean, nothing came out, but all the other elements were there. I remember getting to the top of the rope, hanging off the rope, and going, 'Oh, my God, this feels great!'"

On Stacy Keibler's Tweeting: "She can do whatever she wants. I rarely tell anybody what they should be doing with their life."

On his favorite thing on earth, the anus exhale: "We think it's one of the funniest things in the history of mankind. Even the idea of a fart makes me laugh. Saying the word 'fart' makes me laugh. I have iFart on my phone. I have remote whoopee cushions. Farts. To me, there's nothing funnier."

Well, it's nice to know that you can always count on George Clooney for a laugh when he fucks a fart out of you. That really is the worst. Nothing kills the mood like a laugh brought on by a sex fart. We all love to let out a HAHA over a good fart, but please have some decorum and keep your laugh to yourself when your piece lets one go as your genitals do the Dougie on theirs. We're all adults here and adults stay in character after any kind of mid-fuck fart. Don't break the fart wall by laughing, because it's pretty much impossible to recover from that. Grow up, George!

If that's isn't a "walk it off, you weak bottom bitch" moment between a kinky bitch and his rough trade strap-on master, I don't know what is.

After trying (and failing) to convince the world through red carpet poses that their relationship wasn't consummated by a pen scooting across a contract, George Clooney and Stacy Kiebler went down to Mehico to get a few golf and fisting sessions in before award season begins and they are EVERYWHERE. Never mind that seeing George in aqua shorts fills me with the same kind of uncomfortableness I felt when seeing my abuelita in Body Glove board shorts and Jellies, he's doing the same shit he does with all of his temporary pieces. He shows them off at his premieres, takes them to Mexico, takes them Lake Homo (typo, I SWEAR, and it deserves to stay), takes them to the Golden Globes, takes them to the Oscars and then takes them to a recycling center where they're spat out into various reality shows. That's how it always works.

I beg Stacy Kiebler to deliver us from BORING and change the script a bit. And she can start by teaching George to scream out "Ayúdame! Ayúdame!" instead of "HELPME! HELPME!" when she's paddling his old ass too hard in their Mexican hotel room. I mean, your safeword should always be in the official language of the country you're in.

The confidentiality agreement George Clooney made Elisabetta Canalis sign before he handed over a severance package of bus money and a letter of recommendation for her next high-paying john can suck her taint until it goes raw, because she's going to spit out his name for more free press whether his ass likes it or not. Italian journalist Bruno Vespa wrote a new book about love and Elisabetta spilled about her time with George Clooney, because the only time a bitch puts a microphone up to her mouth is when the name Clooney falls off of her tongue. Elisabetta didn't really bite the paw that fed her fame and only had nice-ish things to say about George. People has a few excerpts from the book:

Praising the Oscar winner, 50, as "the person who valued my feminine side the most" and "also one of the best people I have met from a charitable point of view," Canalis, 33, went on to say, "he has been a special for me, and very important, just as a father would be."

Asked by Vespa to elaborate, she said, "between us there was more of a father-daughter relationship. I was unable to clarify this up 'til now."

As for their breakup, Canalis – who competed on Dancing with the Stars earlier this season, denies reports that Clooney's long-held aversion to marriage was an issue.

"George and I never spoke of marriage nor of having kids," she says. "I don't put limits to the possibility of having them, but neither George nor I had ever envisaged having kids together. The end of the relationship was not caused by a marriage issue, but instead by our personal needs."

"George is a real gentleman even in his private life," she says. "I was very much respected both as a woman and partner."

The quote everybody seems to be throwing "YOU SUCIO BITCH" looks at is the "father-daughter relationship" one. Some commenters at People think it's gross, disgusting and weird that she'd label a relationship with a grown dude she took a strap-on to as father-daughter like. But I know what she's saying. What she means is that George liked her to decorate his head in a pink bonnet and spank him on the nalgas while shoving a pacifier in his mouth as she screamed at him, "You bad baby! You bad bad baby!" Yup, Clooney's the daughter. See, totally normal and worth the weekly paycheck.

Here's Elisabetta's at the GQ Man of the Year Awards in Berlin on Friday night. Sadly, she lost the top prize to Jared Leto.

George Clooney brought his latest contract girl Stacy Keibler to the Annual Hollywood Film Awards Gala last night and as they made their way up the red carpet, they stopped and stared at each other. Just like they stared at each other in London....and Paris...and New York. That's what they do. They stare at each other like an old couple sitting in the middle of a Sizzler who just silently stare at each other as they chew on their all-you-can eat shrimp. This leads me to believe that Stacy isn't pinning George down and forcing him to suck on her strap-on, they're just in a really long staring contest.

They started it weeks ago and neither of them is blinking for shit. So George is taking Stacy wherever he goes and when he gets some free time, they resume the staring contest! Yes, that is exactly what's going on. They're not fucking, they're just staring. That is a completely reasonable explanation (that I did not pull out of my bong) for these two bitches' serious staring problems.

Hint to Stacy: Just coo out the word "marriage" and George will blink with his entire body.

Or wait. Maybe this isn't a staring contest at all. Maybe they are blinking. Maybe George learned from his past mistakes, so from now on he's training all of his temporary pieces to communicate by Morse Code through blinking. That way they won't speak with their mouths, because George hates that.

The first time George Clooney fulfilled his contractual obligations by bringing Stacy Kiebler out to pose with him at one of his premieres, they had the chemistry of a soft dick and an anus-less ass. If awkwardness was a power source, George could use those uncomfortable as shit pictures to run the conveyer belt of leased trophy hos in his basement. George and Stacy went for round 2 at last night's Paris premiere of The Descendents and if you put the black sheep of the Keebler Elves and the ghost of Rosemary Clooney together, they'd probably have more sparks between them than this mess right here.

Couldn't Stacy come to the premiere dressed like Brad Pitt's peen to pull some kind of excitement out of George's face? George's meh-ish facial expressions run from "Why are you still here?" to "Must call the escort agency in the morning" to "This bitch's titty tape came out to play and I ain't even going to tell her." I mean, George is more excited to see some bald dude in a brown suit than the trick he's supposedly scissoring on a sex swing. Yeah, I know George has to have a shiny thing on his arm whenever he's selling a movie to make him look like some kind of Bond type who is a master pussy wrangler, but it's starting to make him look like a Hugh Hefner type who would rather be making out with a bowl of cold tapioca pudding.

But my favorite part is the titty tape. You know you have problems when the titty tape is the star of your premiere. And now I want to tapioca wedding.

George Clooney should get credit for his spot-on Mr. Magoo face and Stacy Kiebler deserves extra points for making her tits look like evil bee eyes, but other than that these pictures couldn't be more awkward and uncomfortable if Elisabetta Canalis ran on the carpet, skinned Stacy, wore her as a suit and then continued to pose with George like nothing every happened. George finally let Stacy pose next to his ass at last night's NYC Film Festival premiere of The Descendants and Sarah Larson better make up the bottom bunk at the halfway house for Clooney's discarded leased pieces, because by the looks of their ice cold chemistry this mess is not going to last.

George has that same "looking for the exit face" you make when you regretfully decide to go to breakfast in broad daylight with your one night fuck piece and are trying to decide whether or not you should go with the "blueberry syrup gave me explosive diarrhea" excuse or the "I suddenly remember I have a dog that needs to be walked" excuse. George is squinting his eyes so hard in hopes that with the power of an imagination and bad eyesight, Stacy will look like the sparkling anus of his soulmate Brad Pitt. It didn't work, obviously.