If David O. Russell's Abscam movie succeeds at one thing it'll be turning Christian Bale, Bradley Cooper and Jeremy Renner into three gorgeous messes from the 70s. They've made Christian Bale look like a sleazy used car salesman who fucks with his loafers on and tastes like cologne and sweat. They've made B. Coop look like a porn producer who smells like perm stank and screams "Don't touch curls!" at least once a day. And now, as Lainey puts it, they've made Jeremy Renner look like a third rate Joe Pesci impersonator. That wig really brings out the Grumpy Cat in his face.
Who ever is responsible for this mess should just accept their Oscars now. They should get an extra special award for making Elisabeth Rohm (I think that's her) look like Cinderella's evil stepmother gone disco.
I don't know where I've been, because I have never noticed David Beckham's beautiful bubble bottom butt before. It's glorious. Is he wearing push-up panties, because his ass is so high that it looks like it's worshiping God. No wonder Becks' former stalker Tommy Girl wanted to surgically attach his tongue to Becks' anus lips. He wanted to wake up in dat ass for the rest of his days and I can't blame him. I want to lay my head on that ass. I want to eat Thin Mints off that ass. I want to miniaturize myself and jump on it like I'm in a Sleepy's commercial. I want to stay miniaturized and twirl around on his butt cheeks while singing, "the hiiiiiiiiiills are alive."
Screw that football shit, with nalgas like that, he should be the captain of the Twerk Team. It's a damn shame that Posh Beckham won't munch on his ass, because she thinks butt has too many calories in it. When he wiggles it and convinces her to lick it, she probably pours a little Sensa on it before she eats. How dreadful and a waste of some good Honey Baked ham ass.
Here's pictures of Becks' nearly busting the back seams of his pants at a stadium in Bejing yesterday and also pictures of him signing autographs at an event for his H&M bodywear line in Berlin.
Here's Michael Douglas and Matt Damon as Liberace and Liberace's young piece Scott Thorson on the cover of Entertaintment Weekly. My nipples are not secreting rhinestone water, so that tells me that Michael Douglas looks nothing like Liberace in this picture. This looks more like a butch Walter Mercado throwing a fur coat on a young Regis Philbin wax figure.
Michael and Matt play Liberace and Scott Thorson in Steven Sodbergh's Behind the Candelabra, which airs on HBO in May, and they both talked to EW about what it was like transforming themselves into crystal-encrusted beauties. Matt says that one of the most awkward things he had to do for the movie was to get a weekly spray tan since Scott Thorson wouldn't be seen in a metallic thong unless his skin was the same shade as Liberace's gilded cock ring. The other awkward thing Matt had to do was dry hump on Michael Douglas from the back.
As for their sex scenes together (and trust us, the movie has plenty), Damon and Douglas both say that shooting a moment of passion is always awkward, no matter who’s involved. “The scene where I’m behind him and going at him, we did that in one take,” recalls Damon, laughing. “We do it. Cut. There’s a long pause. And then you just hear Steven go, “Well… I have no notes.”
Well, I'm glad that this movie has scene after scene of Michael Douglas getting pounded by Matt Damon while wearing a Mama's Family wig, because that's exactly what's been missing from my life.
No, this isn't a picture of Lindsay Lohan and White Oprah having a beautiful mother-daughter bonding moment. But if you're a sucio-brained freak who really wants to fap to soft-core incest porn between a mother and a daughter who look like two bags of rotten freeway oranges left out in the San Fernando Valley sun, then just squint your eyes, believe and your genitals will make it happen. You nasty shit.
This is Dog the Bounty Hunter and his wife Beth Dog leaving a tanning salon in West Hollywood, CA yesterday afternoon. I call STAGED PHOTO-OP, because Dog and Beth don't keep their skin looking like two pieces of jerky made from Panda Express' orange chicken by going to a tanning salon. That's for amateurs. They paid the McDonald's corporation millions of dollars to build them a giant deep fryer in their home. They put on their goggles, lay in the giant basket, get dipped in the oil and come out looking like the sun just barfed all over them.
If you're a sucio-brained freak who really wants to fap to soft-core porn between two dogs who look like two bags of rotten freeway oranges left out in the San Fernando Valley sun, you don't have to squint your eyes in order for your genitals to make it happen.
And on a different note, Dog's deep fried pompadour mullet is so beautiful. It looks like a mane of French's french fried onions. Add some green beans and you have a delicious casserole.
Tatler Magazine has something they do called Man of the Year, but my guess is they made that mess up this issue just so they could give to Prince Hot Ginge and just so they could use this precious picture of him wearing a Prince Charming costume from the Disney store and a beret from Troop Beverly Hills. My only complaints are that Tatler didn't also put this cover out in bottom bed sheet form for my mattress and that they didn't use a piece of toilet paper to wipe up the shit-covered skid mark of skank words next to PHG's face. But don't let a Karkrashian stop you from fapping. It's kind of like when you're getting it good with a hot piece, but his breath smells like curdled goat milk and dog farts, so you just focus on his hotness and block out the stankness. It's just like that.
Two weird things happened on VanityFair.com a few days ago. First, Vanity Fair actually interviewed Carson Daly in the year 2012. Second, Vanity Fair's George Wayne, who's thing is to try to shock the butt plug right out of his interviewees, asked Carson the question most of us ask ourselves when we wake up in the morning: When Xtina gets the fuck tingles in a major way, does she squirt like a geyser? Yes, Vanity Fair went there:
G.W. Let’s cut to the chase: Do you think Christina Aguilera squirts when she has an orgasm?
C.D. Are you kidding me? Is that your opener? I have no idea. I can’t imagine the thought. I mean, really.
G.W. I mean, clearly—just look at the outfits she chooses to wear onstage. Tell that girl to put some clothes on! I believe that is a rational question to ask you. I know it is a bit off-piste.
C.D. Yes, it is. I will say she does have a lot of people on her team, a whole entourage to help her, and she knows what she is doing. Oh boy, I love you. You are the best. You are so great—just the best. Despite your asinine question about Christina, it is still a pleasure to be here with you.
Wait, so according to George Wayne, if you wear four-sizes-too-small leather panties onstage, your sex parts will squirt like a walrus spitting water when you orgasm offstage later? No wonder I always stop for a few seconds and say "hmmmm" to myself when I see leather man panties in the window of some store on 8th Street.
And you know what I really didn't need today? The image of Xtina squirting up into Carson Daly's nostrils. That's not what I needed, so screw that GW bitch for that.
Or maybe Prince Hot Ginge is pulling up his pants to try to take away the gold medal in bulging from Henrik Rummel. It's not working. Try harder, PHG!
One thing I learned while looking at pictures of PHG snorting an invisible coke line and giving himself a near-sighted sobriety test at an Olympic cycling event yesterday is that before you pull out your shank.gif and point it at a picture of what you think is a ginge-stealing trollop tramp, you should make sure that he's not related to her. Because that ginge-stealing trollop tramp who made the sun's ovaries explode by pinching his cheeks is his auntie Princess Caroline. Sorry, Prince Caroline, and please keep up your tribute to Aunt Hetty's hair!
If you're planning to see The Dark Knight Rises (or Cheech & Chong Presents: The Dark Knight Lights Up as Rush Limbaugh calls it) in IMAX this weekend, then you're probably reading this while camping out in line so you don't have to sit in the front row with the dumb hos who didn't wait hours in advance before the movie starts. Seriously. My not-knowing ass went on Fandango yesterday afternoon to buy tickets to an IMAX showing on Friday night. You know how you're laughing at me right now? Fandango did the same thing before re-directing me to the site: inyourfuckingdreams.stupidbitch. A lot of IMAX showings have been sold out for weeks and some people are even selling their tickets for up to $100 on eBay. Crazies.
But you know, I shouldn't even bothering seeing that shit when I can instead spend my Friday night with a bottle of Sun Peak Peach, a copy of Photoshop, this picture of Tom Hardy with a bottle in his mouth at the London premiere of TDKR and all kinds of clip art. That's all I need to birth out my new Tumblr: Tom Hardy Sucking On Things.
Not only is Tom Hardy sucking the tip of the luckiest water bottle in the world, but he's doing it while wearing a suit and a trench coat. That is the place where SWOON goes to really swoon. And since we're on the subject of swooning out of our chonies, I also threw in some pictures of Prince Hot Ginge at last night's premiere. Congratulations to us all!
To celebrate the fact that she's getting paid $19,999,999.50 too much to mumble out lines in the next Avengers movie, ScarJo rolled around on a yacht in Taormina, Italy today with a friend and her piping hot, panty pudding-churning bodyguard. I read a rumor last week, or so, that ScarJo auditioned to be Bradley Cooper's latest beard and that she's no longer getting on that Nate Naylor dude, but I don't know the exact goings-on of her punane. Whatever her situation currently is, she should still pull some The Bodyguard shit and get on the piece that's protecting her multi-million dollar chichis. That dude is like the epitome of the late 80s and ScarJo needs to take her coochie time traveling.
Dude is like late 80s Charlie Sheen meets Jose Canseco's hair part meets Baywatch Nights-era The Hoff meets the sunglasses section of a Florida gas station circa 1989. I bet he always smells like Hawaiian Tropic dark tanning oil, drives an '87 yellow Camaro, has a bathroom cabinet stocked with Nair, calls everyone "boss" and sleeps on a waterbed covered with a black panther comforter. Don't even get me started about how hot he looks when he makes a call on his brick cell phone. Swoon. And swoon.
These are the greatest pictures I've ever seen of an Afghan Hound getting groomed on a boat.
Adrien Brody (aka the only hot piece whose hung nose I'd sit and spin on) and his girlfriend Lara Lieto are on a yacht in the South of France somewhere and when you're on a fancy boat with a humanized Afghan Hound, you do whatever it takes to make sure he's squeaky clean at all times. You dip your hands into his swim chonies and knock the dingles dangling all of his luscious ass hairs. While you're down there, you pinch at his no-no lips a little bit to really make him drop, pucker and pop. Then you move your hand to his front and knock away all the crabs in his bush before making sure that he's completely cheese-free down there. This IS love.
The only thing I ask of Lara, is that the next time she takes Adrien from behind and does the "boning that ass with my clit" pose, can she please wear this t-shirt over her bikini? It would make my life a whole lot easier if I only had to Photoshop my head over her instead of my head AND torso. Thanks, bitch.