I Don't Like Jokes
After letting out a stream of denials from the gap in her teefs, Bobbi Kristina has finally said that the rumors are true, she's engaged to the dude who was like a son to her mother. Bobbi Kristina makes the announcement on her family's new Lifetime reality show The Houstons: On Our Own and Nick Gordon tweeted a picture of the ring. If you look up in the sky right now, you will see that the clouds are spelling out the line "HELL TO THE NOOOOOO." That's Whitney responding to this mess from heaven. Rolling in the deep is what Whitney will be doing in her grave today.
Whitney pretty much raised Nick since he was a teenager and Bobbi Kristina considered him a brother, so some members of the family, including Whit's brother Gary, thinks their current relationship is some strange Games of Thrones shit. In the clip (which you can watch here if that's what you need today) for the Houstons reality show, Gary says that nobody in the family ever guessed that Nick Gordon would go from being a godson to making Bobbi Kristina squeal for god while they humped.
What makes this even more messy is that Cissy Houston is trying to keep Bobbi Kristina from her $20 million inheritance, because she's afraid all that money will bring out the gold diggers (see: Nick Gordon) and drugs dealers who will try lure BK back to the bad shit side.
Most hos can't wait to get away from their brother, but if Bobbi Kristina wants to do hers for the rest of eternity, then good for her. But that's not the most disturbing part of this to me. The most disturbing part is that Bobbi Kristina obviously isn't good at making decisions. I mean, how can she want to marry a dude with brows like that. Those brows should be in a garden, nibbling on rotten apples that fell from a tree. They shouldn't be on a human face! Those brows look like pieces of burnt flour tortilla. You shouldn't judge a book by its cover...unless that cover has some jacked up brows on it.
Because reporters have to ask EVERYONE who should be in the 50 Shades of Barf movie, MTV UK asked love bleeder Leona Lewis who she thinks should play the dude who ties a woman up to slap her around. Either Leona Lewis is trying to throw elegant shades of sarcasm or she's just as dumb as dust on a dildo. Because Leona answered like this:
"For Christian Grey it has to be someone really hot and super smooth. Why am I just thinking of Chris Brown... maybe Chris Brown!"
That would be more like 50 Shades of Black and Blue, and I'm pretty sure the movie ending with that Anastasia Steele girl going to the emergency room with a busted face would just bum everyone out. That's not sexy. I swear, Leona Lewis. I swear. Even Leona's auntie on the left CAN'T with her right now.
That dog and I have something in common. Terrified is the look that fills that dog's eyes when it sees an open jar of peanut butter sitting on the kitchen table. And I have that same look when I see the words "Hulk Hogan sex tape." Every single time.
When Gawker scraped our retinas off by giving us something more horrifying than Mr. Nanny, they said that Hulk Hogan put his polenta log dick (Side note: I had polenta for dinner last night and now it's creeping up my throat, so I only felt it was fitting to reference that mess here.) into the chocha of Heather Clem, the then wife of Florida radio host Bubba the Love Sponge. Hulk told Howard Stern (via TMZ) this morning that his sex tape co-star is Heather Clem and Bubba was okay with him boning her in a canopy bed. Hulk was married to Linda Hogan at the time, but he says she was such a mega bitch that she forced him to stick it in any trick who wanted some Hulkamania all up in her guts. Hulk is looking for who ever gave that tape to Gawker, because he had no idea he was being filmed.
Okay, so when Heather Clem (short for Clemidia) wasn't the liquid love sucked up by Bubba's Sponge, she was being passed around to his friends like Hulk Hogan and she did all of this willingly and for free? I don't know whether I should worship at Heather's exquisite heels for her dedication to being a brazen hussy whore or if I should shake my head at her for being gross. I swear, Florida is a HELLUVA drug.
This is when we're all supposed to put a black lace veil over our face and dramatically throw ourselves on top of love's coffin as it gets lowered into the ground, because true love is dead and marriage is nothing but a lie. Love has already thrown itself off a bridge, jumped through a window, put its head in an oven, snatched away Chris Brown's phone during a Lamborghini anti-joy ride, and humped on Parasite Hilton without four condoms on, but this news is really going to kill it forever. Entertainment Tonight says Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman are no longer starring in the real-life show Little People, Big Love, because they have broken up after 30 years of marriage.
Actors Danny DeVito and Rhea Perlman have separated after more than 30 years of marriage, ET has learned.
The couple's rep Stan Rosenfield confirmed the news to ET.
The pair, who married in January of 1982, have three children together.
Little people love is supposed to last forever! It's not a good feeling knowing that Danny and Rhea aren't snuggling together in their tree trunk cottage like a baby porcupine and a baby bird staying warm together in the winter. I'm not going to bring up the blind items that claim Danny rubs his slutty foot on side trick after trick. Instead, I'm going to call the nearest emergency room and tell them to have a bed waiting for me, because this news makes me want to buttchug a liquid nitrogen cocktail.
Christina Hendricks is the face of Specsavers (which I guess is like LensCrafters) in Australia and she was in Sydney earlier this week promoting some contest for the brand. Christina sat down for an interview with Kate Waterhouse from the Sydney Morning Herald (via Warming Glow) and awkwardly giggled in an "I'm gonna slap this little twat down with one of my chest domes" kind of way when Kate called her a full-figured woman while making the sign for "big bitch" with her hands. Kate asked Christina a question about being an inspiration to full-figured women, and the ginger goddess' publicist stepped in to say that no questions about her weight are allowed. Kate either didn't hear what the publicist said or decided to really burn the ginger off of Christina's locks, because asked the question AGAIN!
SMH (which today stands for Shaking My Head) said that Christina stopped the interview and when the cameras were off, she said to Kate: "I think calling me full-figured is just rude." SMH also said that a radio host was told to not ask Christina any questions about her magnificent chichis.
Some think that the term "full-figured" is a compliment and some think that "full-figured" is just a condescending way of calling someone a lard ass heffa. Christina obviously thinks the latter. I don't know what to think. I'm waiting to hear Jennifer Livingston's thoughts on this.
But seriously, Kate Waterhouse is in the wrong and it was very unprofessional of her to ask Christina questions about her body. Christina wasn't there to talk about the heavenly mounds of cashmere fluff that make me wish I was a miniature person so I could joyfully bounce on them like I was in a Sleepy's commercial. Christina was not there for that. Christina was there to talk about eyeglasses! So if Kate Waterhouse was a true journalist she would've asked Christina more relevant questions. You know, she should've asked Christina if Specsavers puts a special anti-streak coating on their glasses that makes it really easy for you to wipe away cum splatters without worrying about streaks. Kate should've also asked Christina if ever she paints a pair of red lips around her belly button, puts an extra large pair of eyeglasses over her titty balls and then makes her stomach say sexy things a sexy librarian might say. Those are relevant and smart questions. I swear, that Kate Waterhouse is no kind of serious journalist.
Sheree Whitfield of The Real Housewives of Atlanta took a little time out from installing a bidet (aka a garden hose) in the master bathroom (aka an empty coffee can) of her luxurious estate Chateau Sheree (aka plywood walls on a dirt hill) to tweet a few words about the passing of RuPaul's Drag Race queen Sahara Davenport and to also check TVGuide for mistaking her for Sahara. Damn you, TVGuide! Not all drag queens look the same. Sheree only wishes she looked as good as Sahara. The shade of it all, indeed!
via Major TV Junkie (Thanks, Lahoma)
JLo must've been desperate for photographers to catch her having a touching and completely manufactured moment with her daughter Emme Anthony, because: a) Who in the hell brings a 4-year-old to a boring ass fashion show in Paris? and; b) Who in the hell brings a 4-year-old to a boring ass fashion show where backstage in the darkness lies the Death Eaters' house mother who keeps the mop of wires on his head glistening white by regularly dying it in the pure innocence of a child? JLo is so hard up for a photo-op that she doesn't care if Kunty Karl syphons the youth and innocence out of her daughter. Oh well, I'm sure Emme wasn't too scared of Kunty Karl. I mean, you get used to staring at the malnourished face of a functioning zombie when you spend every other weekend with Skeletor.
The front row at the Chanel show in Paris this morning smelled like desperation (from JLo), boredom (from Emme), soiled chonies (from Casper Smart, he still hasn't earned his PtD, potty training degree, yet), freshly polished blue steel (from Karl's 22-year-old human Baptiste Giabiconi) and fish (from Kanye). While Emme tried to keep from completely melting down into an impeccably dressed puddle of BORING, her mom's adopted boy toy Casper Smart tried to not look at the hot piece that is Baptiste Giabiconi, because he didn't want to further embarrass his sugar mami by having a cream pie moment in his panties.
And if you're thinking that Suri Cruise and Harper Seven Beckham must be spitting jealousy over this, STOP! Harper Seven Beckham privately viewed this collection in her penthouse suite at The Ritz LAST WEEK. And Suri Cruise already gave this collection to her maid's daughter, because she owned and wore all of it weeks ago!
You too would take the express route to Drunkville if you looked down and saw the cut-off tails of a family of My Little Ponies draped over your chichis. Dishwashers at Spago in Beverly Hills had to stay 2 hours past their shift last night, scrubbing red oil stains off the edges of wine glasses, which could only mean one thing: Drunktina was there!
Looking like she just hung her head over a toilet right after Jem! took a pink and purple-colored piss in it, Drunktina stumbled out of Spago last night with the help of two human crunches. You know, Drunktin's leased piece, whatever his name is, has it good. Dude gets to live in a mansion, use Xtina's AMEX whenever he wants and the only thing he has to do is safely escort her drunk ass to a waiting SUV and dunk her face in a bowl full of paint remover before bedtime so she doesn't ruin another pair of $3,000 sheets. Bitch does not have it bad.
The video for the THINK OF THE CHILDREN version of Xtina's new single "Fuck Your Body" might look familiar to you, because I'm sure you dreamed it up while lying face first in a bowl of technicolor milk after you passed out in a sugar-induced coma from filling your stomach bag with Fruit Loops, Pop Rocks, colored popcorn and Skittles as Monster played on an analog TV in the background.
Wearing outfits she straight stole from Peg and Kelly Bundy's closets, Xtina plays a candy-coated trailer slut who picks up Adam Levine-alikes and loves their bodies so much that she murders the blue paint and glitter out of them (they're obviously a Smurf and a fairy disguised as human men). Bitch is not only murdering dudes, several pairs of Spanx and her face pores, but she's also murdering my childhood in this video. How many My Little Pony's were harmed in the making of her hair? Not only that, but her hair goes through so many pastel colors that she immediately reminded me of a whore-ified Lil' Miss Magic Hair:
Xtina should be singing "all I wanna do is steal your looooook," because that's exactly what she did to Lil' Miss Magic.
I once worked at a company a million years ago where the owner believed that the best way to run a business was to hire as many of his own blood relatives as possible. The owner had this nephew who dropped out from the University of Phoenix Online (Who in the HELL drops out of the University of Phoenix Online?!), didn't finish his courses at DeVry and only had "clerk at Kinko's" on his resume under past employment, so naturally he was made Director of Marketing of the company. Dude really tried to do a good job, but I've heard better ideas from a 4-year-old on a sugar high and "awkward" doesn't begin to describe the presentations he'd give to the entire company. Dude's presentations were as cringe-worthy as watching your piece try to get it up by furiously fapping with his own saliva while you hug a pillow hoping for it to end.
The whole "nephew of the owner of the company" thing is the first thing I thought of when watching Jaden Smith's new rap video. FOR WHY?! Jaden is only 14 years old, so he should be snorting bath salts under the bleachers like a normal high school freshmen and not rapping about dating older women who do yoga. My soul is doing the downward NO to that one. This is what happens when a latch key kid has an unlimited allowance and an iPhone contact list full of music industry executives who owe his daddy a favor. If you strapped that video to a heart monitor, the only thing you'd see on the screen is a flat line. Jaden's voice is monotone as hell. Not to mention that his facial expressions go from "a stoned Doug" to an "extra smug Dylan McKay."
First, music gets this song from Jaden Smith and then Andy Williams dies. Music, you can stay under the covers today. It's not your day. And now for a palate cleanser: