I Don't Like Jokes

There was a frowning rainbow over Croatia this weekend, and that's because when the Silver Fox frowns, rainbows frown and the Silver Fox was frowning after finding out that his live-in piece Ben Maisani was caught humping mouths with a side piece a day before they left for their vacation. Some source tells Life & Style that the locks of pure silver on Anderson's head temporarily lost their shine when he got sad about the pictures. And that means I need to sell a few of my beaten down internal organs to Priceline in exchange for a one-way ticket to Croatia, because I'm needed...and because I don't think the restraining order he has out against me is valid there. The source said this:

"Anderson was with Ben in Croatia when he was told about the photos. They were on a yacht. They flew to Croatia on Aug. 11, one day after the photos were taken. Anderson's upset -- who wouldn't be?"

Guess who else is in Croatia with Anderson and that bag of muscles and slutiness he calls a boyfriend? Andy Cohen! Anderson tweeted a pic he took of Andy in Croatia today and Andy tweeted about being in Croatia with Anderson. I know what's going on here. Anderson is going to be so upset that he's going to run out onto the deck of the yacht to softly weep tears of betrayal under the stars. Then Andy is going to slither out onto the deck, grab a step stool, stand on it and let Anderson cry it out on his titties. And since Andy's eyes are naturally in the derp position at all times, Anderson won't even notice that his right eye will be on the lookout for Ben. Bitch is so going to take advantage of a vulnerable Silver Fox right there on the poop deck!  How shameful, Andy! Smart and something I would do, but still fucking shameful!

The chunkiest moose knuckle I've ever witnessed live with my own eyes was in the freezer section of a Costco and it was on a dude who was 30 pounds of sweet sugar in a 5 pound sack made of stretchy sweat pants. So, Costco will let a moose knuckle that almost kicked me to the ground stroll through their aisles, but they won't carry a bestselling book with some semi R-rated words on its back cover. That bestselling book was written by Joan Rivers and she isn't having it. Joan is not one to let  a shameless STUNT QUEEN opportunity pass her by, so she crashed into the Costco in Burbank, CA and staged her own protest.

TMZ has video of Joan comparing Costco to Nazi Germany for banning her book "I Hate Everyone Starting With Me." Joan screamed out some things about Costco burning the bible next before she awkwardly handcuffed herself to a woman's cart. If I was that lady, I'd be farting out piss. How dare Joan Rivers take her cart hostage when she's got 18 boxes of frozen pretzels to buy and free samples of delicious corn dogs to eat. But the lady took it well and laughed with Joan until the cops came. The cops told Joan to leave and she did. Joan later told the local ABC station that Costco is messing with her First Amendment rights:

"Costco, who sells condoms by the pallet, who sells Paula Deen books and—which is not good for their customers' health—they decided to ban my book. This is a store that sells 300 rolls of toilet paper at the same time, and I say any customer that buys 300 rolls of toilet paper deserves a funny book to sit on the toilet and read."

Costco isn't giving in to Joan by selling her book, but she did get a lot of free publicity out of the stunt and sold around 150 books to customers in the parking lot.

If there was a Costco near me and I was a member of it, I would totally boycott them for boycotting semi R-rated words like "shit" and "fuck"! Okay, I'm lying. No, I wouldn't. I would still go to Costco, because where else can I get a few servings of moose knuckle and corn dog bits?

The only answer to the question "Who in the hell doesn't serve cake at their wedding?" has sadly been answered. When Natalie Portman married that French dude who can tickle the air with his pointed feet, she had a strictly vegan menu, she wore an Italian toddler's communion dress circa 1964 and instead of delicious cake, she served French macarons. Some whores go to weddings to see two hos unite their love in front of God or whatever, but I only go to weddings for the cake (even if the cake is a sheet cake from Sam's Club) and for the open bar (even if the open bar is a plastic trash can full of ice bags and Coors).

People says that Natalie's reputation as a snobby leaf-humper of the highest degree remains intact, because she used local wildflowers instead of having flowers flown in and didn't serve anything that used to have a face on it to her 60 guests, which included Diane Sawyer, Mike Nichols, supposed heroin head Macaulay Culkin, Rashida Jones and Ivanka Trump. And again, she didn't serve CAAAAAAAAAKE!

I can eat a wooden bowl full of dehydrated baby's breath covered in kale foam as long as I know I'm getting some kind of delicious cake afterward. Yes, one can try to say that macarons are kind of like the French babies of CAKE, but it's still not CAKE. I wanna eat the mother! If Natalie Portman ever gets married again and you're invited to the wedding, make sure to call the local pizza place before the ceremony and tell them to meet you in the parking lot about 10 minutes into the reception. You'll be the one standing by the rented Dodge, holding the box of Little Debbie Zebra Cakes your ass bought at the nearest gas station.

When I first wrote about Natalie Portman's wedding, I was going to say that she probably each of her guests a baby tree as a parting gift. I was close, because she gave them a packet of wildflower seeds. WILDFLOWER SEEDS! That way each guest can plant those seeds in their backyard and every time they look at those flowers, they can think of how Natalie's cake-hating hippie ass drove them to suck down a log of Quarter Pounders smothered in Duncan Hines frosting at 3am in their hotel room. I mean, she didn't have CAKE! Illegal!

The Internet collectively barfed earlier this week when the exquisite iguana goddess that is Courtney Stodden announced on Twitter that she's taking time out from her busy schedule of doing nothing to shoot her own reality show. I didn't pay that much attention to that highly important news, because I figured that her reality show would be shot on an iPhone by Doug Hutchison and would probably air after Robin Byrd on Public Access. If that. But now TMZ is saying that after months of Courtney and Doug hitting the ho stroll to beg for a reality show, their fame whore dreams are finally coming true thanks to Vh1. Courtney and Doug have checked into the new season of Vh1's Couples Therapy. It's times like this when I wish that Vh1 had a show called Celebrity Mental Hospital.

TMZ says that 17-year-old Courtney and 52-year-old Doug will work out their "marital problems" in front of the cameras for the next few weeks. Some source (aka Courtney's pimp of a mom) says that Courtney and Doug's marital problems have everything to do with their age difference and all the attention (that they've whored to get) their relationship has gotten.

"Marital problems" is a really funny way of saying, "We just moved Doug's butt plug a little to the right to reach in and pull out some fake problems we can say we have to get on reality TV." Well, the bad news is that the goddess iguana and her gay husband's 15 seconds of fame have been extended to 16. The good news is that at least we'll have a million more GIFs of Courtney looking like a dehydrated lizard having a seizure while trying to catch flies. Think of the positive!

And the next reality show Courtney stars on needs to be an episode of People's Court. Shauna Sand needs to sue that trick for copyright infringement for continuing to stuff her lizard claws in lucite heels. Courtney's toes are always hanging off of her heels, because they want to get as far away as possible from messing with the Empress of Lucite.

Katherine Jackson and TJ Jackson were officially named co-guardians of Paris, Blanket and Prince today, and in her declaration, Mama Jackson took off her wig, got comfortable and let it all out. In the declaration, Mama Jackson threw a "here comes the truth, heffas" side-eye at Janet, Randy, Jermaine and Rebbie when she said that she suspects she was tricked into taking that trip to Arizona. Mama Jackson has seen the light and she's spilling the truth. "I've got all your numbers, hussies!" - Mama Jackson to her sneaky bitch ass kids

TMZ says that Katherine was all set to drive to New Mexico to see her sons in concert, but then an unnamed doctor showed up to her house and told her that she should fly instead of taking a car. Katherine says she trusted her doctor, so she got on the plane, but was hit with a whole lot of WTF when she ended up in Tucson instead of New Mexico. When Katherine wondered why she was in Tucson, she was told that she has high blood pressure and needed to rest at a spa. If there's one thing a memaw can't resist, it's rest at a spa, so she went. When she got to the spa, her iPad and cell phone were taken away and the phone in her room was disconnected. Katherine couldn't even watch her stories on TV, because they shut the TV off. Suddenly she knew what it felt like to be one of Tommy Girl's wives.

Katherine didn't know her grandchildren were going crazy on Twitter about her being missing and she was constantly told that Paris, Blanket and Prince were fine. Katherine went on to write in the declaration, "At the time, I trusted the people I was with to be honest with me."

This leads me to the NEWS FROM THE GODS that fell onto my eyes like clouds made of glitter today. CNN says that Oprah has made the best decision of her career by giving La Toya Jackson a reality show on OWN. Unfortunately, La Toya's show isn't a reality version of Murder She Wrote and doesn't follow her as she solves crimes, but her show will still save the entire network. Oprah can thank Detective La Toya later. The thing is, La Toya's show doesn't air until 2013 and it hasn't even started shooting yet. So why didn't Randy and his band of plastic-faced kidnappers wait until La Toya's show started shooting before they put their scheme into motion?

All the drama could've been captured in front of reality TV cameras and in the show's season finale, La Toya could've rescued Katherine from her spa prison! You know, Detective La Toya would've gone undercover as a maid, snuck into Katherine's room and escaped through the air conditioning vents before zip-lining across the property to a waiting helicopter. But noooo, Randy and those bitches would never let that happen, because they are jealous of La Toya and won't ever let her be great. Selfish bitches!

Some whores (aka me) say that Shannen Doherty has already won the lottery a million times over by getting cast in Heathers, getting cast in Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, getting cast in Charmed, getting cast in Little House on the Prairie and getting paid to spit her signature Brenda Walsh bitchiness at that bland tramp harlot whore Kelly Taylor (short version: Shannen Doherty won the lottery by being born as Shannen Doherty), but Shannen Doherty doesn't think this.

On Friday's The Talk (via Contact Music), Shannen said that during her Charmed days the crew and her would buy a bunch of lottery tickets together every time the jackpot reached a fever pitch. This one time, the jackpot was at around $50 million and the crew fucked with her emotions by giving her a fake newspaper with the fake lottery numbers on 'em. I'll Shannen tell you the rest, and warning, reading the following paragraph of words might make you want to start a GoFundMe page to benefit Brenda Walsh's broke ass:

"I jump up - I'm screaming hysterically - I run out of the make-up trailer, I run to my trailer, I gather up all my stuff, I run to my car, jump in, put it in drive, and start peeling out of the lot. (The cast and crew) come running after my car screaming, I stop really quick, and I'm like, 'What?' And they're like, 'Where are you going?' and I'm like, 'I won the lottery, I quit!' They had to tell me that I did not win the lottery and I was still broke and I still had to work. I actually cried hysterically, I had tears pouring down my face."

BROKE?! What about that Brenda Walsh money? Or that Jenny Wilder money? Or the full Cabbage Patch bank I sent her as a kid to thank her for making my life complete by being Brenda Walsh (I didn't do that, but I should've)? I mean, BROKE? Did the producers of Charmed make her put a dollar in the slap jar every time she put five fingers on Alyssa Milano's face, because that's the only reason I could come up with for why Shannen Doherty would ever be BROKE.

But whatever, you know that saying? When one door closes repeatedly on a crew member's head for pranking the wrong bitch, another door opens in an Education Connection online classroom.

For the first time in YEARS, a dinner date kissed Katie Holmes on the cheek and afterward her face didn't smell like sweaty balls and peen nectar (aka Tommy Cruise breath). I know, I'd be disappointed too if I was her, because when a dinner date kisses me on the face I pray it'll make my cheek smell like sweaty balls and peen nectar.

Katie Holmes, who hasn't stopped smiling ever since she learned how to naturally smile on her own (seriously, she's just showing off now), went to dinner last night in NYC with a bunch of friends including a dude everyone is calling a "mystery man." They make it sound all sexy and shit. That's not a mystery man. That's a manager, agent, lawyer, publicist or some other kind of business type. I know this, because if he was trying to get on her like that, he wouldn't be awkward smiling like me on kindergarten picture day when I was scared of the camera and didn't know how to form my mouth into a smile. That's not a smile of seduction. I also know this, because it's probably been a long time since Katie has gotten good dick, bad dick, soft dick and any kind of dick. If this was a special kind of date, she'd be so excited that she'd be air kissing him with her cooch. But really, who cares about the mystery man thing when there's something more important to scream at. I'm talking Katie taking a cab...AGAIN.

I'm hoping that somewhere between that restaurant and her apartment, she traded that cab for a Bentley. The last thing Suri needs is to know that her mother is making a habit out of taking cabs like a commoner.

Lindsay Lohan has just finished her first week of shooting Bret Easton Ellis' low-budget, soft-core mess The Canyons with porn star James Deen, and the movie's director Paul Schrader is so crackstruck that he's dribbling out LOL-inducing words of fuckery about her performance on the movie's Facebook page. LiLo's performance as a drunk L.A. slut whore is so complex that if you peeled away the thick layers of her performance, not only would you find a thin film of slightly-dried ass wart pus, but you'd also find shades of Gena Rowlands, Ann Margaret, Faye Dunaway and a bunch of other actresses she should never be compared to.

This note from Paul makes so much more sense if you picture him typing it while White Oprah stands next to him, threatening to flash her tit bags at him if he doesn't spread the delusion:

LINDSAY. Seven days in, first full week completed. Lindsay Lohan is a huge fan of Hollywood glamour and performances from the Golden Era. Working with her every day on varied scenes I've been making a mental checklist of classic movie performances she's touched upon. There's has been a lot of Ann Margaret, some Gena Rowlands and Faye Dunaway and of course some bits of Liz Taylor and Monroe as well as a little Rita Hayworth and even Gene Tierney (although the last may be more my creation than hers). Oh yeah, and Angie Dickinson. And Lee Remick. And Shelley Winters... . Paul S.

That really took Paul a lot of keystrokes to simply say: "I just smoked up the greatest crack in the city with Blohan!" 

via ONTD

You see what happens when Katie Holmes gets the robot control panel made of recycled Atari parts taken out of her brain and replaces it with an actual human brain that is capable of freely producing independent thoughts on its own? Katie somehow decided that Suri Cruise doesn't need a shoe closet full of high heels or a 1,000 square foot dressing room with racks and racks of designer clothes in it. Katie wants Suri to be more simple and expects her to buy clothes off the rack at Old Navy like she's an Affleck daughter or any other normal child. Screw Katie for this. You give a bitch an inch and she'll shit on your toddler heels.

A source tells something called Revel magazine (via HuffPo) that since Suri is going to Catholic school and will soon wear uniforms, Katie doesn't think there's any need for lipstick, heels or couture dresses in her life. Tommy Girl is the one who let Suri slather the lipstick on and Katie's always thought that it was wrong. As Jimmy Choo shut down their Suri Cruise division, the source said these hurtful words:

"Katie has been returning unsolicited gifts and loans from designers for Suri since she arrived in New York. She's issued instructions to remove Suri from all freebie lists. She's also put the word out in LA to stop any mini-me diva products being sent her way. Tom loved to spoil Suri and indulge her, but Katie has other ideas."

Turning away free designer crap?! IN THIS ECONOMY? Katie just got her mind back and she's already lost it. Woe is Suri. I can see it now. There's Suri Cruise standing (yes, standing, because Katie makes her do that) in line at H&M with a handful of sale items in her arms when outside Blue Ivy Carter whizzes by in a chauffeur-pushed Bentley stroller in front of a dozen assistants carrying bags from Barney's. Riches to Rags: The story of Suri's 6-year-old life. Sigh.

Here's life-ruiner Katie going to spin class yesterday.

Fred Willard, who was in almost every Christopher Guest movie, joined Pee-wee Herman in The Cops Gave Me Blue Balls Club last night when he was arrested for jacking his 72-year-old dick to straight porn at the Tiki Theater in Hollywood. Yes, porn theaters still exist even though almost everyone has a personal porn theater in the privacy of their home called the motherfucking Internet. And yes, the cops are still arresting people for doing exactly what you're supposed to do in a porn theater. This is the world we live in and it ain't right.

TMZ says that at around 8:45 last night, Fred, who's about to start shooting a movie called The Yank (research?), had his peen out and was fapping his way to a bust when the cops busted him for lewd conduct. No word if the cops did the right thing by turning around to let him finish, because nothing is worse than trying to smile in a mug shot glamour shoot after your ole' man jizz party has been cut short. Fred was arrested, taken in and released a quick minute later.

Don't the cops have better things to do than handcuff an old man's fappin' hand for partaking in a little old-fashioned jerking off in a porn theater? If it's that slow, they should just follow Lindsay Lohan around, because I'm sure she committed at least a dozen crimes in the time it took for Fred to give his vintage man sausage some hand love.

Since the cops are still busting bitches in porn theaters, where were they when I went to the Tomkat Theater in L.A. (Side note: I only went there out of curiosity. OKAY? Is it even still there? The stank from that night is still trapped to the walls of my nostrils.) and made the lethal mistake of going to the bathroom upstairs. There in the bathroom was a naked old bitch jacking it while sitting on the toilet. And yes, my falling nostril hairs told me that he was doing exactly what I thought he was doing on that toilet. Where were the cops then, because that was some illegal shit. Pun very much intended.

Fred is 72 years old and I say if he wants to fap in a musky porn theater, let him fap in a musky porn theater. Instead of arresting him, we should all give him a hand (not like that).