I Don't Like Jokes

In news that has stabbed a bloody hole into my faith in the growing legacy of gold diggers, TMZ reports that Russell Brand won't pick up a shovel and dig into Katy Perry's mountain of millions. Russell and Katy didn't sign a prenup before they ruined their lives by getting married and so if he wanted to, he could try to wrap his wallet around half of the $44 million she made during their 14-month marriage. But Russell (read in the voice of Kandi from Real Housewives) is an independent woman, doing it for himself and doesn't want Katy's money. That burn Russell just felt in his dick, wasn't one of his genital warts popping on its own again, it was the spirit of Anna Nicole Smith kneeing him in the crotch for being such a dumb bitch!

Russell's lawyer filed final divorce papers in court yesterday and made it clear that he wants to walk away with only the money he made during their marriage. Once source put it like this: "This divorce is as amicable as it gets, and Russell was a mensch (Yiddish for a good person)."

What is the Yiddish word for puto estúpido, because that's what Russell Brand really is. Russell has a plate of $22 million dollars in front of him and suddenly he's got a case of the nobles?! Think of all the metallic skinny jeans, suede pointy boots and bottles of Crisco's leave-in conditioner Russell could buy with all that money. But good for him for wanting to be a do-gooder and shit. Gross.

And here's a tip for Katy's lawyer. If "Russell Brand" suddenly hops into your office and declares that he suddenly wants half of EVERYTHING, make him Riverdance for 3 full minutes as confirmation that it's really him. Because there's a good chance that it's probably Heather Mills in a Jesus mask.

You know how sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night with a heavy feeling of regret sitting at the pit of your stomach? Usually that feeling of regret has a lot do with the piece of Oreo pie you swallowed before bedtime, but when the producers of Boardwalk Empire wake up with that feeling tomorrow it will have everything to do with letting go of the most glamorous thing that has ever happened to their show. TVLine reports that Spaz de la Huerta is Spaz de la Muerte to the producers of Boardwalk Empire, because they have decided to not pick up her contract option for season 3. This is a direct slap to lip liner, which is a direct slap to beauty, which is a direct slap to us all!

Spaz's character ran away in the middle of season 2, but there was some hope that she'd return in all her glory. But a source type says that Spaz is heading directly for the exit door along with Michael Pitt, Dabney Coleman and Aleksa Palladino (SPOILER ALERT: They were all killed off during the season 2 finale.)

TVLine doesn't have any details as to why Boardwalk Empire evicted Spaz, but I'm sure that in a few days some "inside source" will say that she was difficult to work with. Spaz, difficult? That's a "NEVER" if I've ever heard one. So what if Spaz probably kept the crew waiting for hours because she was riding the ghost of Elvis in her trailer and refused to stop until the spirit of Graceland moved her to do so. So what if the costumers had to spend thousands of dollars cleaning Spaz's costume since she regularly sweat bronzer, whiskey and gutter water into them? So what if Spaz bit the cheek of the prop master, because he poured stage booze into her character's glass instead of real booze. Spaz is an artiste to the core and that's how they all are!

Spaz doesn't need that stupid HBO shit anyway. Now she can devote all her time to her real passion: slowly moisturizing the sexy onto her legs for the masses.

There's a hurtful, soul-murdering rumor going around that's making staches frown and rhinestones cry. The Daily Star, an esteemed British journal that tops The Daily Mail as the most reputable news source in the world, has threatened all of us by publishing a story today that claims Glamberace will screech his nipples off as the new leader singer of Queen. The quote they used from Glamberace has been scientifically proven to cause a bitch to slowly wall slide while letting out a silent cry of noooooooos.

"The intention is to pay tribute to Freddie and the band by singing some fucking great songs. It's to keep the music alive for the fans and give it an energy that Freddie would've been proud of."

Don't fall against the wall just yet, because apparently The Daily Star lifted this quote from a press conference for the 2011 MTV EMAs. Glamberace performed with Queen at the EMAs that year. Queen's label, Hollywood Records, told Rolling Stone that Glambace is not slipping into Freddie Mercury's latex ass huggers, but he might perform with them for one or two dates:

"The Daily Star item only mentions that Adam may perform with Queen at Sonisphere. This is not confirmed. Nothing has been signed. However, if this were to happen, Queen would be returning to the setting of their final concert with Freddie Mercury, which took place in 1986."

So put a handful of glitter in your mouth and exhale out a glittery sigh of relief, because we've just dodged THE WORST THING THAT WOULD'VE EVER HAPPENED TO MUSIC!!!!!! Okay, okay, maybe I'm turning on the dramatic cunt theatrics, but blame it on the humidifier next to me. You know what smoky vapors do to me. It makes me type in a Phantom of the Opera voice and just makes me EXTRA dramatic.

The truth is, Queen has been touring for years ever since Freddie Mercury floated up to the giant Spandex spool in the sky and I've seen them about as many times as I've eaten broccoli without mayo on top. ZERO! And how many times would I see them if Adam Lambert sang with them? ZERO! So this doesn't really affect my ass. But you know, I'd probably pull myself away from the lure of my humidifier to see Queen if Christopher Lambert (as The Highlander) sang lead.

Since Kim Kardashian is trying to beat the jockstrap's record by wrapping herself around as many professional athlete dicks as possible, she has apparently started down low fucking on Mark Sanchez, the quarterback for the New York Jets. The sports blog Terez Owens (via Radar) is hearing that Kim clamped her ham hocks around Mark while filming the first season of Kourtney & Kim Take It Up The Ass and they recently started up again. Mark has a girlfriend, but that hasn't stopped him from trying to conquer Kim's Mount Doom ass whenever they're in the same city. The source put it like this:

“Kim and Mark like to meet in hotels for dinner dates and flings. Whenever Kim is in New York, they hang out. They are very careful with not being seen together, Mark is seeing someone!”

Okay, the source lost me at "very careful with not being seen together." Kim not wanting to be seen is like Khloe not wanting to drag a small dog by the neck up to her den in the hills every time she sees one. It's instinct! Kim isn't powered by a beating heart and working internal organs like us. Bitch gets her energy from eyes looking at her and cameras flashing at her. That's how she feeds the dark orb in her chest. And wasn't Mark Sanchez recently caught doing a 17-year-old or something? And before that he was doing Hayden Pantyairs who looks like one of the boys from The Sandalot with tits. Kim's second face is younger than a preteen, but she's over 30, so I don't think she's the kind Mark pulls his peen out for. Pimp Mama Kris needs to do her research before she leaks fake stories.

Here's Kim walking around Miami last night while looking like a sweet and sour chicken wing.

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.

Sad news for those of you sick fucks who were looking forward to watching Fear Factor's donkey show episode while enjoying a spread of spoiled horchata and Miller Lite (aka donkey piss). NBC has erased the episode from its schedule and will air a rerun instead. So America will not get to watch a bunch of dumb ass contestants do what Joe Rogan did to get that job.

TMZ summoned a hundred donkey side-eyes when they said last week that Fear Factor's season finale episode had a stunt where the contestants had to guzzle down beer jugs full of donkey piss and donkey-flavored baby batter. As of last week, NBC executives were going back on forth over whether or not they should air the "ass to mouth" episode, but sometime during the weekend they decided to kill it completely. They scrubbed a preview for the episode from their website and already changed channel guides to list the re-run as the episode that will play tonight. TMZ asked NBC's chairman for a comment and he said this:

"I reviewed the episode late last week and decided it was a segment we should not air."

I don't know if this is good news or bad news for those ass jizz-guzzling contestants. On one hand, if the episode aired, they'd forever be known as the hos with donkey spunk breath and drunk donkeys looking for a quickie would kick at their back door at all hours of the night. But on the other hand, the world knowing that they will swallow some disgusting ass shit will do wonders for their personal lives and probably get them a cameo on Jersey Shore. We'll never know.

And if you were looking forward to watching a bunch of tricks drink donkey sperm, you can watch the next best thing instead. You can watch a fake crying donkey throw up a bunch of bull shit. I'm talking about this (skip to the 2:15 mark):

via Buzzfeed

Not to be outdone by the monument to Basement Baby made by basement mice using moth balls, shredded cardboard and stuffed animal stuffing, a company called Armdeonce Ventures (aka Mama Tina's cousins) is looking for donations to build an homage to the greatest thing that has happened to Houston since the Beer Can House.

Never mind that Syracuse already has erected a mighty Beyonce monument, why donate to such worthy causes as homelessness, hongray children, abused animals and Basement Baby's "Get Out of the Basement" fund when you can donate to a useless piece of shit cause like building a tribute to Blue Ivy's mother. Every Houstonian who doesn't have the last name Knowles is making the same face Beyonce is making in the picture above over this fucked up news.

Marcus Mitchell and Steve White of Armdeonce Ventures tell MyFox Houston that city has already approved their plans and now they're just trying to scrape up the money so they can build their Beyonce monument by the end of this year. This is what Marcus said when explaining his plans and I'm just going to go ahead and assume this ho has been sniffing a whole lot of wig glue lately.

“Our biggest thing is a lot of people get honored when they die, so our goal is to why not honor people why they're still here? We felt as though it’s her time to be honored. We wanted to construct, like, a massive hall so as the doors open, if you donated to the monument, you'll have a separate nameplate. There will be clips of Beyonce with Destiny’s Child and wardrobe like a mini museum. We’ve gotten support from the city of Houston, from the mayor. We’re waiting for a very nice letter from the mayor right now.”

On a positive note, Houston's Beyonce monument will be the final signal the rapture will need to eat the earth from the outside in.

If Marcus and Steve really want to honor Beyonce, they should "borrow" an obscure monument from a European country and slap her name on it. That is the ultimate tribute.

(Thanks Nikki & Jazzfish)

If you're in the middle of swallowing a glob of Red Bull (wink wink at you, Demi) and evaporated milk, you should pretend that it's donkey piss and donkey jizz, because if you're able to keep it down without heaving up 90% of your internal organs, you could win $50,000 on Fear Factor! The dust storm of bleached dandruff, fake tan residue and sea jasper ash that just covered L.A. is from Lindsay Lohan running over to NBC to sign up for Fear Factor.

In the past, Fear Factor has fed their contestants all sorts of delicious gourmet delicacies like blended rats, sloth dicks wrapped in the ass cheeks of a baboon, snail vaginas, tarantula shit, charred fetus heads, etc.. etc... But their latest stunt dipped so low into the bowels of disgustingness that some NBC executives weren't sure if they should air it. But as they proved by giving Whitney a full season, NBC has no fucks to give and will air it anyway!

Someone who works at Fear Factor tells TMZ that on an episode that airs Monday, the contestants have to swallow (no spitting allowed) entire cups of bladder juice and nut gravy from a donkey. Each contestant had to drink every last drop of donkey piss and jizz before they moved on to the next round, and some of them did it. SUCIO! It must be a very special Kardashian-themed episode.

$50,000 could buy you a lot of shit (like 50,000 items from Taco Bell's new breakfist menu!), but is all that money really worth felching down the jizz of an ass in front of millions of people? It's one thing to drink donkey cum in the comfort of a Tijuana Donkey Show while surrounded by friends, but it's another to do it in front of a TV camera. What if you get pregnant? What if you shit out a tiny donkey human baby into the toilet? You're going to need more than $50,000 to raise it. And I don't even want to think about how they milked that donkey, but I'm sure it involved Joe Rogan's lubed-up hand and a copy of Heidi Montag's Playboy spread.

But in NBC's defense, they've aired much grosser shit than hos drinking donkey semen. Like Donald Trump's face, for example.

So far (and according to the media), Demi Moore's medical file reads like that of a high school asshole whose idea of a good time is huffing from gas tanks before fingering his girlfriend in the bathroom of a Hardee's during his break. Because Demi apparently gets hungry for the sweet nectar, whip-its, Adderall AND Red Bull. TMZ is hearing that long before Demi whipped her way to a seizure, she ate Red Bull for breakfast, Red Bull for lunch and Red Bull for dinner. For 10 years, Demi has been obsessively riding the Red Bull daily, but some source says that in the past few weeks she's been replacing food with Red Bull. I think I speak for AssStain Kutcher and all of the Willis daughters when I say, MOM, you're embarrassing me!

Someone from Red Bull tells TMZ that Demi is so hard up for that nasty shit that they regularly deliver shipments to her home. A different source says that when Demi was partying it up with Tater Head recently, she kept booze out of her mouth, but kept her tongue in a Red Bull all night long.

Red Bull, really, Demi? RED? BULL? The period blood of an actual bull probably tastes better than Red Bull. You know when you're making out with some nasty drunk and he burps out a vomit-infused burp cloud into your mouth? That's what Red Bull tastes like. I wouldn't be giving Demi shit if TMZ says she was addicted to underground Four Loko, or if she was caught buying homemade PURPLE DRANK from Brit Brit's Cheetolings in the back room of their playhouse. But I just can't with her Red Bull addiction. What's next? We're going to see Demi on an episode of True Life: I'm Addicted to XBox360? I bet Demi's bedroom windows are covered in tinfoil and she uses Transformers bed sheets as curtains.

I'm sad that nobody told Demi that the adult way of handling a divorce from a total douchebag is to fuck the pain away. When you're down and out, let the teaches of Peaches guide you.

Prepare yourself to know what it feels like to never trust anything that comes out of Brad Pitt's mouth again (because I know that up until this point you hugged every word that came out of Brad Pitt's mouth with warm arms of trust). Brad Pitt has regularly declared before the gay gods (aka a sculpture of Rojo Caliente riding a Liberace unicorn centaur down a flannel rainbow) that he will never slip a wedding band on Angie Jo's bony finger until everybody in the U.S. can get married. Well, the bitch is a teller of lies.

As you and your same-sex partner wait at City Hall until it's legal for you to file a marriage certificate, the asshole who vowed to stand with you until the end will whisk on by with his zombie vampira skeleton bride and cut in front of the line. RIGHT IN YOUR BETRAYED FACE. Because Brad tells The Hollywood Reporter that he's probably going to break his promise by becoming Angie's third husband:

"We’d actually like to, and it seems to mean more and more to our kids. We made this declaration some time ago that we weren’t going to do it till everyone can. But I don’t think we’ll be able to hold out. It means so much to my kids, and they ask a lot. And it means something to me, too, to make that kind of commitment.

I’m not going to go any further. But to be in love with someone and be raising a family with someone and want to make that commitment and not be able to is ludicrous, just ludicrous.”

I'm going to force myself to not get hypnotized by the fact that Brad's goatee looks like an upright grandpa stache and an upside-down grandpa stache holding hands over a soul patch, because there's more important matters at hand (not really). Brad has just proven that he cares about keeping his commitments as much as he cares about finding a shampoo for extra oily hair. (Seriously, Brad, it's not hard. Just ask someone at Sally's Beauty.) If Brad rips the notary stamp off the promise he made to gays and gayelles, how can Angie Jo trust that he won't rip the notary stamp off the marital bowels (Oh, Freud, I love it when you trip me) he makes to her? Oh, wait.