Panty Pudding

Lady Gaga (the "lady" part is up for discussion) was spotted out in Paris shopping sans Underoos once again says Hollywood Rag. Bitch, put some pants on. That being said, I'm glad she's helping the local economy and hopefully buying some stuff to cover that shit up while she's at it. Come to think of it though, maybe she had lots of panties and they all put on their Nikes and drank the Kool-Aid to willingly go to the next level. I can't say I blame them.

You know, I'm not a prude (more of a total ho really) but I have to say I'll be glad when this no pants / leggings count as pants phase of our fashion history is over. My mama was always like "make sure you have clean underwear on!" meaning UNDER my clothes, so I just can't with this trend. Why is it always the people you don't want to see doing that shit that are doing that shit?? Charlize, baby, you are welcome to support the no pants phenomenon at your leisure. I'll wait. People of WalMart, please sit the fuck down.

On another note, MTV.com says she and Justin Beiber are the front-runners for charitable celebs this year. So maybe she just donated all her lingerie to the needy? Gaga is a giver like that. Don't mind that the crotchless panties all started out with crotches. They did not melt away or off themselves, she cut them out. Just believe that and don't think about it too much.

ETA I have no idea how this ended up under Crumbs. I blame Al Gore as the inventor of the internetz. #notmyfault

Never mind the cell phone strapped to the waistband (!!!!!!!!) or the fact that he's dressed up more like a lesbian lumberjack buying a chainsaw at Home Depot than a butch bitch biker, Prince Hot Ginge straddled on a Harley is still making all of my pistons fire. Prince Hot Ginge has moved on from California to Arizona to continue helicopter training, and this past Friday he transformed into The Gingey Rider when he rented a Harley from a dealership in Scottsdale. This is the same Harley dealership in Scottsdale that I'm going to need you to stand guard in front of while I sneak in to make out with that bike's seat. You have my permission to mace me in the face if you see me putting a condom over one of those handlebars after pulling down my chonies. The ginger fever hits me the wrong way sometimes. I can't help it.

A witness tells The Daily Mail that the strands of pure bronze sprouting out of PHG's arms twinkled in the sun and blinded all motorists as he sped off for the open road with his bodyguard. The witness went on to say, "Harry looked like he definitely knew his way around a motorbike. It was Friday rush-hour traffic. He was on the freeway for a while before they hit the open road. He was weaving in and out of commuter traffic. He didn’t even have proper leathers on or gloves. He rode like a pro."

You know, it's best that I let this moment from last night's Saturday Night Live describe my feelings about Hot Ginge on a Hog:

At this performance, the role of these PHG pictures will be played by Paul Rudd and the role of me will be played by Jason Segel.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and practice my "grazing with a BIC" technique since the hanky code tells me that PHG gets into shaving shit. I knew there was a good reason for why the tingles overtake me when I get a whiff of ginger-scented shaving cream.

Did your coworker in the cubicle next to yours who named one of her 12 cats Edpurr Cullen and who you once caught bidding on a Twilight toilet seat cover call in sick Friday and today? If she did, then the crazy bitch just got caught. Snitch on her! She obviously made her way to the Nokia Theater in L.A. to temporarily move into the Twilight Tent City (aka The Jennifer Aniston Projects) in hopes that some of RPattz's DNA will fall on her tongue as he walks past her on the red carpet at the premiere of Breaking Dawn tonight.

Some of these Twihards have been camping out for the past five days! THE FUCK doesn't even begin to describe. "Oh hi, nana, no I can't make it to your 90th birthday party, because I'll be sleeping on the fucking concrete so that I can see Taylor Lautner in the flesh from 200 yards away. Oh, stop crying, nana..."

If you're in the L.A. area, you better pop open your umbrellas now. In just a few minutes, L.A. is about get a torrential downpour of extra chunky cooch cream that has been brewing inside of hundreds of Twihards for days. Just look at these crazies. Some of these Twihards put on wedding dresses to pose next to a cardboard Edward Cullen, so just imagine what they plan to do when they see the real thing in person. As soon as RPattz's toe touches the red carpet, hymens will break, pussies will explode and a cherries jubilee tsunami will take him out. By the end of the night, he'll look like Carrie at the prom. Well, at least that means hundreds of 30-something Twihards will finally lose their virginity tonight.

Most of this morning's news is all about Rick Perry scraping his own shit from the bottom of his hot cowboy boot and some Penn State students flipping vans over their football coach getting fired for putting on his Pope Goggles, so I'm going to temporarily blow away those dark clouds of insane terror and bring out a bright shining sun in the form of a topless Joel McHale!

Joel is trying to make GROUNDBREAKING HISTORY by being the first white man to be named as People's Sexiest Man Alive and so he twerked his camouflage nipples (somebody please send him some black licorice nipple dye) for an audition video. People asked him to put together a video of him making an everyday activity look orgasm-worthy and this is what he came up with. Strangely enough, this is exactly what coffee hour at Ryan Gaycrest's office looks like. This is also what Corbin Fisher's class of 2011 15th reunion is going to look like.

If you're in the El Centro area of California and a single strand of ginger hair that looks exactly like what one of the sun's pubes would look like flies by you, lure it into a petri dish with promises of a vodka shot and send it directly to the third stall in the men's bathroom at New York City's Port Authority (they know how to find me) and then we'll play a game of hot potato when I send you a bouncing check as a gracias.

Prince Hot Ginge stepped onto American soil yesterday (Oh, get me a pile of that American soil he stepped on too and if you pour it into one of these, I'll add more zeros to your trampoline check!) to begin a two-month training program in California and Arizona.

Everything I want to say about this picture is already being said by the eyes of the dude in the crossing guard vest. Who needs a TSA wand when you've got eyes that can zoom straight into the royal nalgas of Prince Hot Ginge. If you stared deep into that dude's eyes, you'd see the reflection of red ants carrying sparklers over two majestic sand dudes. (Yes, I've been taking writing classes from Courtney Stodden.) Thank you, neon vest dude, for doing what a restraining order tells me I can't do!

via Daily Mail

Call off the hounds and cancel the order for your Detective La Toya Kit from Amazon, because the search for Jude Law's refugee hairline has finally come to an end. Jude Law's hairline has been on milk cartons everywhere for years now, but it finally turned up on the top of his lip and he worked that furry caterpillar as he left the Donmar Warehouse in London where he's starring in the play Anna Christie. I guess Jude's hairline and the rest of his head's follicles decided they needed some time apart, so it moseyed on down south to spend some ME time alone.

Sometimes, an above-the-lip landing strip makes a dude look like a dirty panty sniffer who has to check in with the local authorities every time he visits a new city, but sometimes it makes a dude look like a non-paid extra in a burglary scene from a 1970s gay porn. Jude falls into the latter category, so it works for me. You should try to ignore the fact that Jude's t-shirt duo looks like something your auntie would wear to the club and focus on the positive. Jude's stache can exfoliate your upper ass area as he tosses ze salad. That's some full service stuff right there.

You know, I'm going to stop making fun of Jude's front head area, because it is very special and doesn't deserve mockery from a bitter old bitch blogger. It can do something the rest of his body can't do: not grow hair.

Sometimes in the wild, you come across two hot-blooded sessy beasts throwing looks at each other like they just want to get messy, and that's exactly the scene of love that went down in Malibu over the weekend when Becks laid his eyeballs on a Rob Reiner-alike with sex stuffed into his Speedos. You could cut the sexual tension with Posh's clavicle bone. Posh now knows why Becks always spoons with a big Father Christmas plushie doll every night. Here she was thinking that her sleep chattering (sleep chattering is when your mouth opens and closes real fast while you're sleeping because your stomach is hongray and it's trying to catch a fly going by or something) gave Becks the scareds. But nope! The truth is that Becks has always wanted Santa Claus to come down his chimney if I ain't being too subtle.

Just look at this picture of Becks frolicking in the sea while making fuck me eyes at Daddy Bear, and try to tell me that the song playing in his head isn't this one:

I swear, if a genie showed up and agreed to grant Becks one wish, he'd ask to be turned into a crotch patch on that bear's burgundy Speedo and he wouldn't even have to think about it. I really hope this story had several happy endings, because the love between a silver bear and an otter doesn't happen often.

Wait for it.... Wait for it.... Wait for it.... Or just skip all the kites and strawberries and go straight to the (NSFWish) 1:55 mark. And after all that, I still just want to bead his bushy brows like a friendship pin.

Source: FoD via AE (Thanks Nat)

Pull out the Kleenex and a tube of soothing chamomile tea lube, and then gently tell your genitals in a cashmere soft voice that it will not see William Levy's Cuban sandwich nalgas clenching a crisp dollar bill on the (CL)IMAX screen anytime soon. Because the "Cuban Brad Pitt" (HA) has officially said no gracias to a role in Steven Soderbergh's soon-to-be man stripper masterpiece Magic Mike.

William was supposed to star in his big breakout role by breaking out the see through salchicha smuggler (or as my mom says in her accent, "see troo") and twerking his pecs next to Matt Bomer, Channing Tatum, Joe Man Jello, Matthew McConaughey and Alex Pettyfer, but People En Espanol says it's not going to happen anymore. Let's do this in Spanish, because then your chocha (or man chocha) can take the hint and weep in Spanish (messy, crazy, sweary, rosary-clutching, vase-breaking, etc):

Sin embargo, el actor cubano no se unirá al proyecto, pues prefiere dedicar tiempo a evaluar otras posibilidades en la Meca del Cine.

“Recibió un acercamiento, pero no estará”, dijo Gladys González, su mánager, a PeopleEnEspanol.com.

William is famous for telenovela shit and for rolling around on the sand with JLo's ass, so he needs to stop thinking he's too good to sway his peen on camera and take them chonies off! What are all these Hollywood offers that are falling on William's lap? A chance to star opposite an A-list star in a Hollywood blockbuster that will win the box office and win Oscar awards? Yeah, I'm sure William got that casting notice in the mail. William, squint your pretty little eyes and tell me the fine print doesn't say: "Audition held at the Scientology Center. Go to the cellar door on the side of the building, knock the melody to the Top Gun theme song with your fist. Come alone, bring a change of clothes and practice saying the safe word 'glib' over and over again beforehand."

But this is still a tragedy.....

It's times like this that I thank my everything for YouTube. The only thing that can calm my parts down is a fat sage joint from Shanti Ananda:

If Steven Soderbergh is trying to make coochies and culos foam at the mouth like Cujo with this Magic Mike movie, then it's working. Steven's Magic Mike is about Channing Tatum's days as a dick-flapping, nalgas-shaking, nipple-pinching, oil-slathering stripper and almost every casting announcement is like an orgasm from heaven.

So far, the cast includes Channing Tatum (eh), Alex Pettyfer (total douchehole but stills a ! from me), Matt Bomer (!!), Matthew McConaughey (eh squared), William Levy (!!!) and now True Blood's Joe Manganiello has hopped on the Panty Creamer Express as Big Dick Richie. Steven just has to cast Boris Kodjoe as Bigger Dick Richie and Carrot Top, and he can officially change the title to Wet Dreams Do Come True. (I know, I always have to break the buzz in your loins by bringing up Carrot Top.)

This is like Showgirls but with 1000% more peen. Showpeens!

Steven better shoot this in (CL)IMAX 3D and release all the outtakes on an unrated DVD that comes wrapped in the used stripper chonies of one of the cast members. Steven also better hold an open call for fluffers or opposite-fluffers (since I've been known to bring a peen down with talks of Carrot Top, for example).

That being said, poor movie employees will soon find out what Tommy Girl's clean up crew have to deal with when they go down to his dungeon.