Sarah Jessica Parker

If your eyeballs haven't turned into stone balls from staring deep into Sarah Jessica Parker's crotch ("I haven't even stared at the Crotch of Sauron" - Matthew Broderick), then slow clap for her Iggy Pop-looking ass, because she took the night's theme of "punk" and galloped away with it. She looks like vomit and diarrhea from a punk sprayed against a velvet plaid sofa and that headpiece looks like a fancy horse's idea of a mohawk. Spartacus just wants to hop on her back and together they'll lead the slave uprising against the Roman Republic! Bitch went hard, looks a wreck and I love it.

And here's pictures just 1/100th of the bitches who showed up to the Met Gala tonight and completely pulled an opposite SJP by ignoring the theme. In order: Kate Upton (didn't try), Jennifer Lawrence (didn't try), Gavin Rossdale (semi-tried), Gwen Stefani (probably tried but gave up and threw napkins on her bod instead), Carey Mulligan (didn't try), JLo (didn't try, should've been escorted to the exit), Kristen Stewart (semi-tried, because looking like an embroidered used tampon is sort of punk rock), Katy Perry (um, did any of these hos know what the theme was?) and the Queen of the Death Eaters. 

If you haven't spent one second with The Carrot Diaries, then consider yourself one of the lucky ones, because I suffered through 3 episodes for the music alone until I realized that I can listen to the same damn music on my iTunes and I don't have to look at AnnaSophia Robb's $2 thirsty wig of curly polyester nightmares while doing so. The Scary Diaries is like a Disney Channel-like period piece (that has double meaning) for fetuses who didn't live through the 80s and I am way too old for that mess. (Cut to me later tonight when I'm puffing on my vaporizer while watching Jessie on the Disney Channel.) The original TV Carrie Bradshaw, Sarah Jessica Parker, pretty much feels the same way. Net-A-Porter Magazine (via UsWeekly) asked SJP how she feels about some girl playing Carrie Bradshaw and she said that it's odd.

How does she feel about another actress playing the role she so definitively brought to life? “I’m not sure… You know, I think it’s one of those tests of your generosity. She [Anna­Sophia Robb] is a lovely girl and I want her to feel good about it, but it’s… odd.”

My mom was talking about The Carrot Diaries the other day and I don't think she really knows that it's about young Carrie Bradshaw, because she asked, "Why didn't they get Sarah Janica to play Katie Bradshaw?" (FYI: Sarah Janica and Katie Bradshaw in mom talk mean Sarah Jessica and Carrie Bradshaw) My mom has a point and she could be a TV executive and a TV casting director. Because if Sarah Janica's Iggy Pop looking ass played a 16-year-old Carrie Bradshaw, I'd totally watch the hell out of that. A drop of some Strangers with Candy shit is definitely what is missing from The Scary Diaries.

And SJP also told Net-A-Porter that she's done with wearing platform horse shoes off camera, because they mangled her hooves:

"For ten or so years, I literally ran in heels. I worked 18-hour days and never took them off. I wore beautiful shoes, some better made than others, and never complained. But then I did I Don’t Know How She Does It, and I was very thoughtful about my whole wardrobe and said, you know, [Kate Reddy] could not afford really good footwear. So I got [lower priced] shoes and the bottoms weren’t leather, they were plastic, so I slipped a couple times, twisted my ankle.

I went to a foot doctor and he said, 'Your foot does things it shouldn't be able to do. That bone there... You've created that bone. It doesn't belong there.' The moral of the story is, the chickens are coming home to roost. It's sad, because my feet took me all over the world, but eventually they were like, 'You know what, we are really tired, can you just stop – and don't put cheap shoes on us?'"

So many farrier jokes, so little time.

And here's SJP stomping on the snow with her twins and nanny in NYC this morning.

Harper's Bazaar China must've decided that looking human is so out for March and it's all about looking like a dragon alien who covered itself in wax and the manes of a dozen horses. The headline already gives away who this is, but if I told you this was a feline pony alien from Pandora who has come to earth to make us humans its slaves, you'd probably just shrug and welcome our new feline pony alien overlords. This seriously looks like something straight out of the mind of James Cameron. Harper's Bazaar China used and broke every damn copy of Photoshop they had. If I stare at it long enough, it doesn't even look like a picture of Sarah Jessica Parker taken with an actual camera. It looks like a caricature portrait of a Thundercat sketched by one of those sidewalk artists.

I don't know what's going to haunt my nightmares more: the way her Photoshopped face is looking at us like "I will stick your soul in a feed bag and nibble on it slowly" or her claw. The hell did they to her pinky? Harper's Bazaar China hates human and they really hate pinkies.

via PsDisasters

Leave it to Blake Lively's wedding planner Martha Stewart to the show the overdressed hos at the New York City Ballet Gala last night that the only things you need to rule the red carpet are a pair of Al Reynolds' favorite gardening capris, one of Angie Jolie's muumuus, a pair of scissors and a strange broach/sash thing that can dress up any naked table if need be. Martha Stewart always comes prepared. If there's a boring table at the event she's at, she rips off that broach/sash decoration, throws it in the middle and BOOM: elegance is made. On anybody else, that broach/sash decoration would look like gold tinsel on a layer of bedazzled bunny poo on Mr. Hankey's bloated corpse, but Martha makes it look like the most glamorous bowel movement ever. This is probably the same ensemble Martha wore to her goodbye party at the prison and she hand made the sequins out of gold foil chocolate wrappers and the top is a bed sheet she dyed with you don't want to know.

Here's more of Martha sweeping the tricks under the carpet with her impeccable style. I also threw in some pictures of some lesser thans: Sarah Jessica Parker with a glazed terra cotta pot, Anne Hathaway (looking like Peter Pan after falling into a bush in the Enchanted Forest), Barbara Walters, Anjelica Houston, Iman and Daphne Guinness modeling the same metal neck brace Tommy Girl strapped to Stepford Katie so she could never look down at him.

The likes of Aretha Franklin, Basement Baby, Meryl Streep, Anna Wintour, Olivia Wilde, Michael Kors and Andy Cohen all paid $40,000 a plate to pass through a mob of protesters (okay, there were like 4) to eat dinner at the Obama fundraiser at Sarah Jessica Parker's multi-million dollar West Village stall last night. Most stayed through dinner, listened to Obama's speech, did tequila shots off of Michael Kors' muffin top belly button with Michelle Obama, played a game of Pin the Tail on the SJP and "accidentally" wandered into SJP's shoe closet to "accidentally" steal some of her shit. But not Queen Aretha!

The light in SJP's dining room dimmed about 20 minutes into the event when Aretha picked up her glowing chichi domes and got out of that bitch. TMZ was outside of SJP's townhouse and they caught Aretha leaving 20 minutes after showing up. Aretha told them that food was "impressive" and they served "chicken with a mustard sauce, diced tomatoes and a lot of relishes on the side of the plate." Oh, Aretha left real early, because she had more important places to be. Specifically, important places that didn't only serve chicken. Really, chicken?! I know it was a fundraiser, but $40,000 for some shit you can find in the C-Town freezer section if you train your eyes to look for the words "Healthy Choice Chicken Cacciatore." For $40,000, I want eat some dolphin caviar sushi off of Obama's naked body in a champagne room that serves more than just Andre.

I bet Aretha snuck a few dinner rolls in her pocketbook to make up for the cheap ass meal.

This reminds me of when I went on a cruise with my mom and on the first night I sat in the dining room with her while wearing a sweatshirt with a swan playing a baby blue ukulele on it. Okay, I wasn't wearing that sweatshirt, but I just wanted to see if I could make that sentence even gayer. There was this old lady wearing a dusty blond wig at the table next to ours. One of her dinner mates asked her if she was going to have the chicken or the beef. Ole' girl was not playing when she said, "I can get chicken at home, honey. I'm here for the beef."

And that's how my favorite line to use at gay bars was born.

I know. I know. It's Met Ball bukkake on Dlisted today, but this is hopefully my last post on this mess and I'm going out on a terrifying note by giving you things that do bumps in the night. While human hos at the ball sipped on calorie-free champagne, these vampires, zombies, charbroiled trolls and grandma witches sipped on calorie-free carbonated souls. If you put your ear to the screen, you can practically hear the screeches from a pristine young virgin running naked through the halls of the Met as these scary bitches chase after her. Where was Scooby-Doo and the rest of the Mystery, Inc. gang when hos needed them most?

Grab your crucifix, put your garlic bulb anal chain around your neck and get close to the Royal Court of the Death Eaters. In order: Mary-Kate Olsen (looking like the Snow White witch after the dwarves dropped that boulder on her), Anna Wintour, Ronnie Wood (with his toddler-aged girlfriend), Sarah Jessica Parker with Tan Mom's skin idol Valentino, Donatella Versace, Chupa Zoe and Lana Del Taco.

Because Demi Moore is in rehab to curb her hunger for sucking on Reddi-wip cans and stalking Zac Efron, she had to quit her role as Gloria Steinem in the Linda Lovelace biopic starring Amanda Seyfried and James Franco. Sarah Jessica Parker saved the day at the last minute by trotting into the role and here she is in full Gloria Steinem drag on the set in Downtown L.A. yesterday. This is why only trained professionals who have apprenticed under Beyonce or RuPaul should be allowed to handle wigs, because I've seen a more natural-looking rayon mane on the head of the Bratz pony.

That hairball out of Kim Zolciak's mouth on SJP's head makes her look like an Asian Afghan Hound. I don't know what has more plastic in it, SJP's face or that wig. If this is SJP's way of trying to get fellow Afghan Hound Adrien Brody to sniff her ass, it's not going to work, but I give her credit for trying.

It's pretty obvious that Philip Treacy is a hat-making sadomasochist (hatomasochist?) who cackles himself into a jizz bust from seeing rich ass celebrities wearing a swirl of WHAT THE SHIT? designed by him on top of their heads. Philip could sew his label into a KKK cone covered in bedazzled possum shit and fancy bitches would still trip over each other to get their hands on it. I mean, look at Sarah Jessica Parker at the VRC Oaks Club Ladies Luncheon in Melbourne. Bitch has a giant black sperm on top of her head! Now, my ass says a Dionne Warwick prayer every day for black sperm to fall on top of my head, but I don't know if SJP does. If you step back and let your imagination roll around in the gutter, that bitch's hat almost looks like a Dune slug 69ing a shiny black sperm. I think I love Philip Treacy for this.

You know who I don't love? The audience at the VRC Oaks Club Ladies Luncheon. When SJP is sitting there with a serpent-like thing over her head, it is your duty to scream at her, "THERE'S A NO-EYED SNAKE ON YOUR HEAD!" Philip Treacy will blow you an air kiss as the room fills with echoing neighs and dust from fast-moving hooves.

To remind those skinny simpleton hos (see: SJP, Olivia Munn, Jordin Sparks, the boy version of The Shining Twins, etc...) that nothing dims their shine like her megawatt titties, Christina Hendricks employed a trio of midgets with step stools to push up her massive mammary mounds up to the lord's nose and into a dress made of carbon thread so that she could shimmy shimmy coco puff on the red carpet at last night's NYC premiere of I Don't Know How She Does It (said every training bra tramp when staring at the duo of back breakers on Christina's chest).

You know, Christina's titty game never gets old to me. Never. Every time my eyeballs jump across them I see something new. Sometimes I see two Swedish bossy bottoms doing ass to ass with a double-sided dildo and this time I see a double-amputee CoCo trying to 69 with Christina. She's got the Rorschach test of tits!

Even Matthew Broderick doesn't know what to do with himself since all of the oxygen is being sucked up by Christina's nipples and he can feel THEM CHICHIS closing in on his face. It's like he's trying to sing showtunes in his head to keep himself from falling into a full-on chichis-induced breakdown. "Cliiiimb ev'reeeeee mountain - Oh, shit I can't do that one. The hiiiiiiills are aaaaaahlive - Fuck, not that one either. Beeeeeaaaaauty and the breeeeeeeeeassssts - SHIT!" It's okay, Matthew, just think of them as two Swedish bossy bottoms doing ass to ass and everything will be alright.

Here's more hos who tried to outshine Christina's magnificent chichis last night but failed. In order: Olivia Munn, Greg Kinnear, Jordin Sparks, SJP, Matthew Broderick, twin toddlers in fucking satin and JACKIE COLLINS!

Since SATC2: Dry Vaginas in the Desert was such a critically acclaimed masterpiece that won several Oscars and was called a cinematic wonder that film historians will continue to study for centuries to come, Sarah Jessica Parker and Michael Patrick King are talking about making a third one. And they've already come up with the storyline. There has to be a better way for those whores to stuff more millions of dollars into their feed bags without terrorizing the public's senses, right? I fucking guess not, because SJP said this to Parade Magazine (via HuffPo) when she was asked if there were any plans for her to pull out her Louis Vuitton whip and beat that dead horse again (insert "horse beating a dead horse" meta joke here):

“There is. I know what the story is. It’s a small story, but I think it should be told. The question is, what’s the right time to tell it?”

I've said before that SATC3 should be the pilot episode of the Golden Girls, but I've changed my mind. Those four shaved and embalmed hyenas in $1600 shoes are far from the Golden Girls. SJP ripped out all those characters' hearts and nibbled on their souls, so they're basically just zombies now. Zombies in the City! George Romero should direct that shit.

The only story there is to tell is the one where Rojo Caliente acts for the people by locking those three hags (Mrs. Rojo is excused) in a tomb and lets them nag each other's faces off while she sits on a folding chair, slowly eating Red Hots in front of the camera for 120 minutes. SATC3: Rojo's Revolt, that's the only shit I want to see.