Gwyneth Paltrow

The pictures of GOOPY Paltrow in Harper's Bazaar will cover your eyes with the organic grease that's smeared all over her legs, but don't worry you'll wipe those away as soon as your eyes start rotating at all the colon balls of pretension that come leaping, twirling and floating off of her tongue. You know, though, this interview isn't as ridiculous as the usual shit that comes spewing out of her talk hole. The worst part doesn't come from the mouth of GOOP, it comes from Harper's writer Justine Picardie. Justine drank the GOOP and kept drinking the GOOP until the GOOP started spilling out of the pores on her fingers. I mean....:

We've grown accustomed to the symmetry of her face and her killer body displayed on the red carpet since her catapult to fame in the '90s. But when you see her today, without the distractions of props or makeup or styling, in jeans and a white button-down shirt, Gwyneth's calm beauty is striking, as is her extraordinary discipline. As she falls naturally into yoga stretches during the course of the conversation, supple as a cat, you realize that this is a woman for whom working out has become essential.

And excuse me as my mouth naturally falls onto my erect finger so I can wet heave and jerk my head until my brain has erased that paragraph from my memory. I bet GOOPY totally served Justine a pizza from her wood-burning garden pizza oven. All of the powers of GOOP lie within that wood-burning garden pizza oven. Or the porcelain bathtub in her bedroom. Those are the weapons of GOOP's mass pretentious. Now on to quotes!

On how she loves the wrinkles that were majorly Photoshopped off in these pictures: "I'll take my wrinkles. I don't like the Botox thing."

She goes on to admit that she gets tons of facials and has done laser treatments. I believe her. Like this bitch is really going to fill her face with some shit any poor can buy with a credit card. Botox is so provincial. If Fishsticks wants to get rid of a wrinkle, she just recites Justine's paragraph above into the mirror and her face will naturally barf out globs of fat that will fill her lines. Voila!

On how she goes on a 12-week detox every season: "I have a lot of inflammation in my system, so I'm not having anything I'm allergic to—no gluten, no dairy, no sugar. I'll wake up exhausted; I can feel my adrenal cortex being really high. When I get into bed, my heart will pound, my skin won't be good, I'll feel cranky, and then I'll just know it's time."

So if this bitch detoxes for 48 weeks out of the year, that means most of the year she spends starving herself and shitting her asshole off. This explains everything. If you only ate grass sweat and laxatives camouflaged as organic vitamins, any sense of reality you had would come shooting out of your b-hole.

On how her father's death SAVED her life: "All I've learned about nutrition and health came from his cancer. I'll probably have a long and healthy life because he didn't."

On how she thought Apple was going to be a junior butch lez: "I've been saving my clothes for her since before she was born. I was like, I'll bet you anything I'll have a daughter, and she'll be a really cool butch lesbian and be so above clothes, and I got a very clothes-obsessed child. So if she's a lesbian, she's a lipstick lesbian. She doesn't like anything avant-garde at all. She likes anything that's pretty, pretty, pretty or has a bow or a ruffle or is pink."

On her anti-feminist advice to her really famous friend (like she has any other kind): "She is an actress and in a new relationship with someone else with a big career, and I said this may not be feminist, but you have to compromise. It's been all about you and you're a big deal. And if you want what you're saying you want—a family—you have to be a wife, and that is part of the equation. Gloria Steinem may string me up by my toes, but all I can do is my best, and I can do only what works for me and my family."

On how her husband Chris Martin doesn't pass his peen around, but one of her ex-boyfriends did: "I had a boyfriend who used to cheat on me all the time. I was quite naive. I knew on a cellular level, but I bought his story."

The cheating boyfriend is totally Brad Pitt (or Ben Affleck). The actress friend is totally Cameron Diaz (exhibit: A!). And I'm totally going to juice a box of Twinkies and eat a bowl of corn syrup sprinkled with powdered preservatives until my heart is pounding, my skin hurts and cranky is the only emotion I feel. Because if that's this twat's idea of being wrong, then I don't ever want to be right!

GOOP is back with its first newsletter of the year and since Fishsticks Paltrow is obsessed with POOP, it's all about how you can reverse fuck your asshole raw by shitting out your insides while completely screwing over your checking account.

Back in 2009, GOOP featured a cleanse by a company called Clean and the power of Fishsticks caused it to sell out immediately. So she's slapped the GOOP name on her favorite poop pusher and is selling it for the price of a bottle of genuine Tibetan monk tears. (You know, that's the stuff she gargles with to keep the crap that comes out of her mouth from burning her vocal cords.) With the help of her cleanse doctor (yes, this bitch has a cleanse doctor), Dr. Junger, Fishy put together the perfect detox that will make you feel as empty inside as her. Let Dr. Junger break it down for you:

"The basic premise of this cleanse is that by creating the right conditions, our bodies will begin to reset themselves naturally. How? By adding in nutritionally-beneficial foods and supplements, and removing the major toxins in our diet (inflammatory and processed foods)."

"Unlike most cleanses, the goop cleanse by Clean is designed to deliver results right now, while also inspiring long-term health changes. The cleanse will help give your digestive system a break and also improve energy levels by bringing in high-quality vitamins and nutrients. Best of all, because you'll be eating during this program, you won't be left feeling hungry or tired which is typical of most cleanses."

If you look at the 6 steps above, the GOOP CLEANSE (which sounds like the name of a swamp water enema) is very easy to do. You wake up, put your hair in a ponytail, drink an overpriced shake, down a handful of overpriced vitamins, change your clothes, eat salad in your friend's backyard, change your clothes again, check your email while drinking another overpriced shake, change your clothes for the fourth time, light a fire and then sit back with a mug full of your own tears. The light a fire part is very important. Because when you sit back and realize that you've just spent over four hundred damn dollars on some bullshit, you'll want to throw yourself into an open flame to end your GOOP misery (goopery?).

Everyone who was backstage at the Coldplay concert in Abu Dhabi on New Year's Eve found out the painful way what it's like to witness a conversation between a tequila worm on meth and a pinched anus when Fishsticks Paltrow dropped some GOOP into Courtney Love's ear. I don't know why Courtney was in Abu Dhabi (Trying to sell herself at clearance prices to a sheik"), but she was there and somehow got backstage at the Coldplay show. Courtney's cheek found its way to GOOPY's cheek and as her system tried to fight off the "pretentious cunt" syndrome seeping into her face pores, she posted this on her Twitter:

Courtney Courtney Love Cobain
getting the best advise for the new years from a true friend, love you @GwynethPaltrow @Goop
31 Dec

What kind of advice could GOOPY give Courtney? Gently roll all your crack rocks in crushed lemon seeds before you smoke them? If you're going to write a threatening letter to your estranged daughter, do it on persimmon-scented papier from GOOPY's favorite stationary store located in the attic of a diamond museum on the outskirts of Paris.

And by the looks of that picture, the wrong ho is the one giving the advice. One of them looks like she only survives on eating nicotine patches and hasn't slept in weeks because the voices of her enemies keep her up at night. And I'm not talking about Courtney, for a change.

I mean, Fishsticks looks like hell. She looks like Kurt Cobain TODAY, which is probably why Courtney wanted a picture with her in the first place.

Kids, I could use a hangover cure right now. Even one from a pretentious twat. I am in New York City for the New Year on Manhunt business (make of that what you will) and I went to a bar last night that Michael K. recommended. As soon as I saw the Xeroxed copies of guy's b-holes hanging from the ceiling, I knew I was in the right place. The bar stool read "Finger Me", there was hard core dicksucking on the monitors and the drinks were cheap (for NYC). I love my hometown of Boston, but New York is the business.

Do you ever feel like Gwyneth Paltrow keeps up that horrid website of hers just to be a cuntafasse (that's "cuntface" in German. It really isn't, but if you pronounce it as "Kunt-Ah-Fah-Say" it SOUNDS German and it gives calling someone a cunt a little more flair)? She's fully aware that all of the right-minded people in the world find her condescending rich bitch website deplorable, right? This week on GOOP, Fishsticks tackled a topic we might actually be interested in - hangover cures. If you figured Gwyneth's hangover cure was meant solely for the ultra-rich and jet-setty, you were right! Bitch wants you to fly your ass here to New York! Join me! This hotel room is the size of GOOPy's modesty, but I'll fit you in.

If you have the time and the inclination, I've found that the best hangover remedy can be a hot and cold spa treatment. The original would be the traditional Turkish Hamman, but you can find this kind of treatment in spas all over the world, including my favorites, the low-key Japanese spas in New York, like Osaka.

Start in a hot, dry room and then move into an even warmer steam room. Then splash yourself with cold water (or even dunk in cold pool or under a cold shower). Follow it with a full body scrubdown, which is typically followed by a massage. At the end you'll be sent to a cool room to relax and cool down.

I've been known to recreate this experience at home too. Just draw a bath that is as hot as you can handle it and mix in some Epsom Salts and Baking Soda. Soak for twenty minutes and then pop into a freezing cold shower for 1 minute. Get back in the hot bath and stay until you're warmed up. Then get back in the shower for 1 more minute.

Lol this bitch. Hangovers are universal. They don't just happen to "refined" millionaire douchenuggets in London. Cherylyne in the trailer park probably doesn't have access to a spa, you irritating mistress of smug. Also, who in the fuck has it in em' to do all this physical activity when they are laid the fuck up with their brain trying to burst through their eyes and so dehydrated they're pissing butter (ok, that was gross)? I can barely get off the couch, where I am undoubtedly covered in potato chip crumbs and very intent on Love & Hip-Hop. Also, who the dick has a separate shower and bathtub (in their bedroom)? My bathroom is so small that I practically shower in the sink. Snob please!

Not only that - this medical professional says her hangover cure is bullshit. This bitch left her brain in that box in Seven.

The question "How can you make Mark Ruffalo less fap-worthy?" has been answered with a mouth full of cold GOOP.

Mark Ruffalo looked like he was trying to swallow a load of barf and exhale at the same time as he shot a kissing scene with human activated charcoal Fishsticks Paltrow for their new movie called That Movie Where Mark Ruffalo Plays The Same Character He Plays In All His Movies. The director must have yelled at these two "Make it look like two scared blind trout trying to find the same piece of worm," because that's exactly what it looks like. They nailed it! If you're thinking it looks more like two scared porn star vaginas trying not to cry while sharing Charlie Sheen's dick, then you're right too.

Mark is open-mouth heaving because he just read an advanced copy of GOOP's (f)art issue and Fishy's trying to ignore the fact that his breath smells like drugstore gum and soda that comes from a can. WISH YOURSELF INTO YOUR HAPPY PLACE (aka an ivory-covered bedroom bath tub filled with the amniotic fluid of a beluga whale), GOOP!

In this week's edition of GOOP (Grossly Ostentatious Oogly Pretentiousness), Fishsticks Paltrow conducts an overly thorough, in-depth Cuntline NBC investigation on her harrowing journey from Paris, France to London to Los Angeles for the Emmys. Fishy's Emmys scrapbook should really be titled Two Days In The Life Of A Working Mother, because like every working mother Fishy traveled in First Class and stayed in a 12-star hotel suite while her team of nannies tried to keep the scent of "North America" off her children by rolling them in organic baby powder and dried orchid leaves in a room next door.

You know, Fishy writes that she took a commercial flight to L.A., but do we really believe that she breathed in coach mist for that many hours? Bitch is lying. While in France, Fishy made two of her Russian maids pull her head out of her ass which made all the bullshit she stores up hit the ground so hard that it tossed her across an ocean and a country. Fishy finally landed in an empty pool of Neil Lane jewels in L.A. That's how she really travels.

Fishy does make an Over the Moon violation (and uses the word "CHUFFED" in the same paragraph) in this ode to a working mother, but I've got bigger fish(sticks) to fry. Like how she came upon a disgusting sight that forced her to snap her fingers at her personal valet and bark at him to reupholster her seat in shark leather.

4:59 pm

It’s a minute to show time, and I find my seat in the second row (right behind the cast of 30 Rock!) The seat filler before me was sweaty … so my chair was wet. Gross!

5:00 pm

The 63rd Primetime Emmy Awards begin, hosted by Jane Lynch from Glee!

I live for Tina Fey and I love Kenneth from 30 Rock! Wait ... why does my arm look like that and since when do I have 9 chins?

That's not 9 chins. That's your jaw cringing and weeping at being an accomplice to the stupid fucking shit that comes out of your mouth, you dumb dick hole.

But back to the seat filler thing. Is that a direct insult to the Emmy's premiere seat filler Chicken Cutlets? Phoebe Price doesn't sweat. She can't. She had all of her sweat glands removed, because they threw off her balance and made it hard for her to pose in front of a camera for 12 hours straight on Robertson Blvd. But I'm sure who ever sweat like a human all over Fishy's seat will have each of their skin pores plugged up so this never happens again.

And it might not have been PP who completely ruined Fishy's seat, but it was definitely the other kind of PP if you know what I mean. If you're sitting on Fishy's seat, it is your duty to piss all over it.

LEONARD?!!!!!!!!#*!!!!&1!!6^!!+v!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?

via Leanord Kravitz's Twitter (Thanks Angela!)

Trying to prove that the stick that's permanently shoved up her ass is actually a funny bone, Fishsticks Paltrow showed up to the Emmys last night in a hilarious dress that got more laughs than the shit was on Charlie Sheen's head. When she was talking to Ryan Gaycrest on the red carpet, I thought his peen was going to crawl up into his stomach so he could barf it out when he said that her Pucci dress was so sheer that we all faced the threat of seeing her cucci. Bitch's sense of reality is as fried as her hair if she thinks this shit looked sexy. GOOP looked like she was wearing a dildo cozy made of funeral doilies and grandma's old panties complete with Metamucil-induced skid marks.

Fishy is as skinny as a tampon string, but that dress made her look like she's serving up organic caca souffle. But I'm sure that a mere mortal will soon write an essay in The Morton Report about how they were choking on a chicken wing at an Emmy party when the sight of Fishy's stomach made them dry heave it out and SAVED THEIR LIFE! Fishy saves lives even when she looks like cold vanilla shit wrapped in memaw's table runner. Move on...

Here's a small gallery of more hos from last night along with my one-second comments. In order:

Paula Abdul who I'm assuming is wearing a sash made of bedazzled Vicodin pills for easy access.

Claire Danes who needs some fucking Latisse for her limp ass hair.

The Ginger Keeper of the Magnificent Chichis whose husband was obviously Mother Theresa in a past life.

Stepford Katie whose jooree box was obviously raided by Suri Cruise and Tommy Girl.

Heidi Klum whose coochie looks like its foaming at the mouth. Cujo coohie!

TWO CROSS-EYED GLAMOUR GODDESSES!

Jenna Aushwitz (I forget how to spell her last name and don't make me Google on a Monday
morning) who is wearing a reworked version of Brenda and Kelly's prom dress.

Sofia Vergara whose teeth scare me.

Jon Hamm with Jennifer Westfeldt whose face is starting to look like it's made of non-biodegradable materials. And I don't know if Jennifer's sticking out her stomach in that second picture or if her ovaries are orgasming from touching her piece (probably the latter).

Kristen Wiig whose nostrils must've had a case of the shies last night.

Evan Rachel Wood who at first I thought was Austin Scarlett in drag and got really disappointed when I learned the truth.

Peter Dinklage who made my nipple holes squeeee when he picked up that big Emmy and spoke at that tiny microphone.

Julianne Marguiles who should throw those clear aquarium rocks at whoever told her to wear that busted dress.

Olivia Munn who needs to have a seat and stop.

Jim Parsons who needs to spend less time dipping his face in a bowl of foundation and more time manicuring those brows.

Kate Winslet who is there.

And finally, Melissa McCarthy, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler!!!!

Chris Martin and GOOP are rarely ever photographed together and I get it. They're both saggy cunt balloons full of cold farts of self-importance, but at least they know that most cameras can only handle one of their egos in the same frame. If the shells holding their egos touched as a camera's flash went off, a black hole vortex would open up, sucking all of our souls into it and she wouldn't have anybody on earth to terrorize with the piss streams of pretentiousness that shoot out of her mouth hole on a weekly basis. So we should be thankful to GOOP, blah blah blah... But sometimes they go so out of their way to not be photographed together that it makes them look even more ridiculous than usual. Yes, that's possible.

When Coach threw Fishsticks Paltrow a party in London last night, Chris Martin showed up a little while after her dressed like a metrosexual unabomber and told all the photographers to keep their cameras away from him. Fine. The feeling is mutual, I'm sure. Show me a camera that wants to willingly wink at Chris Martin's queef spout of a face and I'll show you labia lips on a dick hole.

But then when the party was over, Fishsticks walked down the street to her car and Chris waited inside. When Chris was given the signal, he ran his stupid ass down the street and hopped into the backseat where Fishy was hiding with a blanket over her gills (ho has never looked better).

Any normal celebrity couple who doesn't want to make a big deal out of their relationship would've just: a) casually walked to their car together while keeping their hands to themselves or b) taken separate cars. But these two twat sticks just have to create a DRAMATICOMGGELLINI scene. I swear, these two don't even have to try to act like assholes, it just comes naturally.

Before we begin our favorite weekly activity of stoning Fishsticks Paltrow with stones not imported from the coast of Majorca and not cleansed with the distilled tears of an albino dolphin (that's the worst part for her), let me ask if any of you know the exact time in that Contagion movie when she dies a slow, painful, tonsil-curling, eye-bulging, blood-spewing, nipple-shriveling death? Because that's obviously the only part worth sitting through and I need to know what time I should make dinner reservations at the Chevy's across the street from the theater. Now on to THE STONING!

In Contagion, Fishy plays a cheating wife who bring a virus (GOOP) to the United States that makes people spit out liquid death as their insides slowly turn into the meat that Taco Bell slaps between a shell. It's the same suffering Fishy briefly went through when she had to kiss Matt Damon during a scene after he drank an entire Pepsi. One of her slaves-in-waiting to quickly change her sheepskin tongue condom (she wears one whenever she has to come in contact with a bitch who hasn't been deemed 100% organic by the FDA).

Fishy talked about both cheating whores and viruses to The Daily Telegraph. First up, is Fishy's thoughts on passing the peen:

"I am a great romantic - but I also think you can be a romantic and a realist. Life is complicated and long and I know people that I respect and admire and look up to who have had extra-marital affairs. It's like we're flawed - we're human beings and sometimes you make choices that other people are going to judge. That's their problem but I really think that the more I live my life the more I learn not to judge people for what they do. I think we're all trying our best but life is complicated."

"Learn not to judge people"? BITCH, don't act like if I ate a Twinkie in front of your face, you wouldn't shit out the stick that's stuck up your ass, chisel into a gavel using a Cartier shank and bring it down as you yelled, "GUILTY OF NON-GOOPERY!"

Fishy then went on to say that if a virus killed cheaters, there would be no mortals on earth for her to terrorize.

"If death by virus was a punishment for extra-marital affairs there would only be three dudes left in this world right now...... I'm lucky - I have a wonderful, blessed life. I have two fantastically delightful children and a very nice husband, so... Knock on wood."

And then she went on about how disasters happen for a reason (Note: There's NO reason for GOOP so ho's belief ain't shit):

"I don't believe in religion at all but it's spiritual. I believe in a divine power and I believe that everything happens for a reason and if it's your time to go, it's your time to go."

But back to the cheating thing. I love how she basically says that all husbands cheat before she quickly tries to pull Chris Martin out of that category by saying how happy she is. I see what you did there, GOOP, and it didn't work. "Very nice husband" is like saying "cheating whore bastard who hates my wood-burning pizza" with a fake smile.

If a virus killed man cheaters, we'd definitely see Chris Martin's face during the In Memoriam at the Annual Cunt Awards.