Sarah Jessica Parker

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.

If you walked by the front of Avery Fisher Hall in NYC last night and wondered why hundreds of Harry Potter fangirls were licking the red carpet and scooting their Muggle 'ginas like proud graduates of Toby's School of New Tricks, it's because Tom Felton, Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Grint nearly melted their nipples off and drops of their DNA splattered all over the place.

NYC is currently trapped in one of Lucifer's wet butt bubbles and the Harry Potter boys were forced to cover most of their body pores in suits from Friar Tux black label collection, so they were pretty much trying to learn how to pant from all of their exposed orifices. But not Emma Watson! Even though Emma looked like a rabid raccoon trying to scurry out of a burlap sack stuck to some opera curtains, she could raise her hand and be sure! And not only was Emma one of the only ones whose body didn't feel like a dirty armpit pad at the end of the night, but she's also been drunk before! FYI:

Here's more from last night's premiere. In order: All those HP chirruns, Alan Rickman, Ugly Betty, SJP with a tiny gondolier, Seth Green with his wife, Mister Jay (wearing the carcass of a spirit animal), Joey Fat One with his family and Matthew Broderick.

When Cheryl Cole landed in L.A. this weekend, she brought with her a teased and sprayed mane of hair that should only be worn by the stars of Valley of the Dolls and Texas child beauty queens whose moms have yet to retire the Revo Styler. Well, Cheryl Cole has infected every hairstylist's teaser brush and created a trend! Looking like the product of a down low love affair between Aslan the Great Lion and a minotaur, Sarah Jessica Parker showed up to the Robin Hood Foundation Benefit in NYC last night with a whole lot of NAY on top of her head.

Normally, I'm into hair that makes a ho look like she's trying to steal Falcon Crest from Jane Wyman, but SJP is not doing it. It looks like a badly glued on wig that's just itching to be turned all the way around. Just think of how many holes in the ozone layer were formed because SJP's stylist (who obviously hates her) wanted to take her to an unholy level of fug. Mission accomplished.

And SJP wasn't the only barnyardigan who should've stayed home last night. Gisele Bundchen nearly broke her cheek bones from posing so hard, but little does she know that a beautiful ostrich creature in a white bra stole the shot from her.

It's one thing for Beyonce to wrap herself in a gown that looks like it was made using the gilded sperm of Lumiere the Candlestick and the dusty ovaries of Babbette the Feather Duster, but it's another to stuff herself so tight that you can't even walk. Like an elephant dick in a guinea pig condom. Whenever Beyonce drags Jay-Z to events like last night's Costume Institute Gala at The Met, he always looks like those dudes you see holding their chick's purses outside of the ladies room with a perma-grimace on their face. And now she does this to him?!

Jay-Z and a helper had to physically help Beyonce up the stairs into the museum. If it was me, I would've knocked that ho to the floor and rolled her ass up the stairs. When we were getting ready to leave, I would've set up bowling pins at the bottom of the stairs, told Beyonce to hold her breath and then rolled her ass down hoping for a strike!

You can't even think about taking a piss in a satin sausage casing like that dress. If you even twitch your labia a bit, all the seams will come apart and you'd be all sorts of naked. It's not like 4 peons (or pee-ons, I should say) can prop Beyonce up on a toilet and guide-eth thee pee-eth stream down below. Beyonce could not pee. Because she could not pee, she could not drink any kind of booze. Because she could not drink one drop of booze while surrounded by a sea of perfumed assholes, she might as well have been in hell. Although, if you're an asshole amongst assholes, you probably don't care. Beyonce waddling around a museum is never the look.

Anyway, here's a bunch of hos who obviously asked themselves "Should I trip her? Should I trip her?" while Beyonce waddled by. In order (after Beyonce and Jay-Z): Gis Bundchen with a granola gayelle, a neon marker named Brooklyn Decker, Dakota Fanning, Elle Fanning, Salma Hayek, JLo with Skeletor, RiRipunzel, Madge, Fishsticks with Lea Michele, Sarah Jessica Parker with an Andy Cohen photo bomb and the First Lady of New York.

Sarah Jessica Parker tells Elle Magazine that like most living things in this world (excluding the ageless Shauna Sand, of course) she's getting old and she can already see herself entering the matinee buffet phase of her life, but she refuses to chop and stretch her face out of fear that she'll look like something you might find in Jocelyn Wildenstein's stables. Yes, getting old is scarier than a Ke$ha video!

Although, it's really not. I can't wait for that shit, because that's when you really don't have to give a fuck about anything. Is that kid kicking the back of your chair making your last nerve splinter? Curse that brat out and tell 'em Santy Claus is made of lies (no, he's not). Use the "BUT I"M OLD" defense in a court of law and you'll get an automatic NOT GUILTY!

When I was at the theater the other day, some pepaw passed out and started snoring so loudly that I'm sure he melted every box of Breathe Right at the Duane Reade down the street. At first I loaded a "STFU" onto the tip of my tongue, but then I realized he's old. I almost wanted to cover him with a chenille throw and have a plate of warm chamomile cookies waiting for him so he has something sweet to nibble on after his nap. See. Getting old is getting RIGHT. I can't wait until my state of mind is permanently set to WHO GIVES A FUCK (no question mark needed).

Anyways, here's a couple of quotes SJP neighed out to Elle:

On meeting her babies squared: "[Meeting them] is hard to describe. Everything is suspended. I can't even tell you what other sounds were in the room. I loved them immediately, but everything--their size, the shape of their heads, the color of their hair, their noses, their eyes--was new to me. They looked surprisingly different from James Wilkie, which I wasn't expecting."

On how her aging face is like something out of Planet Earth: "I don't know what I can do about the aging. Yes, I am aging. Oh my God, I'm aging all the time. It's like those flowers that wilt in front of you in time-lapse films. But what can I possibly do? Look like a lunatic?"

Who needs to go under the knife anyway when you've got a dozen Photoshop tools to erase your wrinkles and make your skin looks like it's manufactured by Rubbermaid. And what did they do to her eyes?! They gave SJP those BLACK SWAN demon eyes. It's making me want to shake her while screaming, "What happened to my sweet girl!!!!?"

The Crystal Enchantress of the Ice Johnny Weir hung up his polar bear stole and his boa made from bedazzled swan feathers for the night to slip into a Hogwarts uniform that puts the HUFF and PUFF in Hufflepuff. Harry Potter's wand will not stop spitting out the glitter once it gets a piece of this. Pee Weir Herman cast a bretha mortis spell (aka the killing these hos spell) at last night's NYC premiere of Harry Potter and the Deathly Swallows, and then he gave them life again by popping a hip to pose. Everyone was slytherin' in their pants.

And those who had to clean their mess in the bathroom after laying their eyes on Johnny were: Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, DanRad, Matthew Broderick with his son and Voldemort's mistress, Joey Fatone with his daughter, Precious, Tom Felton, Ralph Fineass, Liam Neeson, The First Drunk of New York, Lourdes Leon and Darren Criss.

When I first clicked on this picture, I felt like I was coming home with my arms filled with groceries to find my piece giggling on the sofa with the shifty skank slut whore tramp from next door. Bags dropped, naranjas rolled across the floor and the tea kettle screamed!

I should've seen this coming, because Andy Cohen always has one eye on the camera and the other eye on your man's dick! That lazy eye wants to lay right next to the silver field of dreams on Mah Boo Anderson Cooper's crotch. This is so. That woman behind Andy is probably texting some shit like: "Witnessing an evil act of homowreckery right here!"

Oh, how I just want to mount SJP, signal her to kick Andy out of the way and then throw Mah Boo on back so that the three of us can gallop far far far away!

While I go and sharpen my shank and practice my dance-off moves, look at these pictures of three gays and a little filly at the Diane Von Furstenberg show in NYC last night.