Pepaws

Davey Wavey previously asked lesbians for their thoughts on peen and he asked gays their thoughts on coochie, and now he's asking disciples of Metamucil at The L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center what they think of gay sex. First of all, I need to see some IDs, because some of these seniors look young enough to be Lindsay Lohan's kid. Second of all, the priceless jewel in the pink knit vest won this round when she said "cum cum cum" and she won it again when she said, "I know when I was young I was chasing all the little dykes around."

via Buzzfeed

Seen below looking like a cracked out troll making sweet love to the air, Charlie Sheen was on Letterman last night to promote the next 90 episodes of Anger Management (not joking) and while he was there he let the world know that he's going to be grandpapa soon. Apparently, Charlie has a 28-year-old daughter named Cassandra Estevez and she's knocked up with his first grandchild. I don't know whether to feel pity or jealousy toward the newborn baby who will get second hand high from inhaling Charlie's crack smoke breath.

Charlie told David Letterman (via UsWeekly) that he knows the world is going to be an even weirder place when he becomes a grandaddy:

"Me as a grandfather, Dave...I don't know. It's like the world's going to crack in half. It's fabulous. It's just not a title I'm ready to adopt."

All jokes aside, Charlie Sheen is going to be the greatest pepaw ever. On your 16th birthday, your grandpa probably gave you a recycled birthday card with two one dollar bills in it. On Charlie's grandkid's 16th birthday, he's going to give them a cashiers check for $100,000 and a gift card to the Bunny Ranch if he's a boy and a gift card for silicone titty sacks if she's a girl. When you spent the day with your grandparents, you probably spent it watching old Matlock episodes on Beta tape while eating a cold Hungry Man meal (or if you were me, you spent it watching telenovelas while trying to eat a leftover enchilada that fused with its Styrofoam container, because my abuelita left it in the microwave too long). When Charlie's grandkid spends the day with him, they will spend it playing chicken with porn stars in a pool full of vodka.

And I bet Charlie won't even be mad with his grandkid when they want to play with his dentures. Best grandpa ever!

The first part of Clint Eastwood's interview with Extra's Jerry Penacoli is nothing but Jeff drooling all over Clint, licking up that drool and then drooling all over him again. I kept waiting to see a large wave of barf splash into Clint and Jerry's faces, because the crew couldn't take the grossness anymore. Seriously, Jerry should've just pulled down Clint's nappy and giving him a handy right there. It would've been less obvious.

But anyway, if you skip to the 1:48 mark, Jerry finally stops worshiping at Clint's feet and asks him about the amazing invisible chair act at the Republican National Convention. Clint said that Mitt Romney's people asked him to speak and so he did. And this priceless jewel also fell out of Clint's mouth:

"If someone's dumb enough to ask you to go to a political convention and say something, they're going to have to take what they can get."

That might look like he just slapped the sparkle out of Mitt Romney's teeth, but Clint then goes on to say that the country is messy, messy right now and he hopes Mitt can turn things and around and blah blah blah blah boringpoliticsstuff blah blah blah blah... Clint then says that one time when he spoke at a friend's funeral, he talked to "mythical" people sitting on an empty stool.

So talking to people made of air sitting on a stool is Clint's thing! And talking to people made of air is Amanda Bynes' thing too. I always knew that Amanda Bynes was Clint Eastwood's spirit animal and vice versa.

When one of my cousins was a kid, he got lice from some brats at school, or maybe he got it from me since I've always been a dirty bitch. I don't know, but my auntie really didn't want to spend her hard-earned money on buying RID at the drugstore, so she tried to get rid of his piojitos the zero budget way by shaving his entire head. You know, because lice will magically pick up all their shit and move to another kid's head when the forest of hairs they live in is mowed down. What I'm trying to say is that it didn't work and she had to buy RID anyway. Anyway, my guess is that Harrison Ford pulled a move like my auntie and was too cheap to buy RID so he just tried to shave the lice away. That's why he had a shaved dome while eating dinner with Gary Oldman in Philadelphia the other night. Yeah, that's totally why.

And duh, I'd put on a slutty smoke monster costume, call Harrison Ford "John Locke" and hit it.

If President Obama, Congress and all the Houses quit their jobs and handed all their power over to Tony Bennett, you'd soon be able to waltz into a Duane Reade to pick up a bottle of lube (not the Pimp Mama Kris-endorsed one), a bag of hot fries, a roll of toilet paper and a box of crack rocks. At Clive Davis' pre-Grammy gala, held at the same hotel where Whitney Houston passed away, Tony said that deaths of Amy Winehouse, Michael Jackson and Whitney might have not happened if all drugs were legal. Preach it, pepaw!

"First it was Michael Jackson, then Amy Winehouse, now, the magnificent Whitney Houston. I'd like every person in this room to campaign to legalize drugs.

Let's legalize drugs like they did in Amsterdam. No one's hiding or sneaking around corners to get it. They go to a doctor to get it."

The only shit I know about Amsterdam I learned from an episode of House Hunters International, but I'm pretty sure that only weed is legal there and they still have to buy their 8-balls from a sketchy dealer with stank breath in the dark part of an alley way like the rest of us. Also, Michael Jackson died of a prescription pill overdose and it's looking like Whitney didn't take any illegal drugs before she went up to star in Heaven's remake of Sparkle with Aaliyah. It is kind of bizarre that Xanax and Valium are completely legal, yet whenever my weed man comes to visit, I have to pat him down to make sure he's not wearing a wire tap. Actually, that's not why I pat him down. I pat him down because he lets me and it's pretty much the only kind of action I get.

Anyway, Pepaw Tony means well and some of what he says sort of makes sense if you think about how many billions are spent and how many people die from the war on drugs shit. But that's some shit for a different day. I think what Tony is really trying to say is that he wants to be able to buy a damn joint wherever he goes.

Here's a few pictures from Clive Davis' gala last night and let me predict the future by typing what you're going to think in about 5 seconds: What in the name of veiny titty balls was Kim Kardashian doing there?! Call me Miss Cleo.

In order: Toni Braxton, Rita Wilson & Tom Hanks, nobody, Glamberace, Amber Rose (no comment on those Klingon brows and gremlin lips), Diana Ross, a Diana Ross wannabe and Our Lady of Perpetual Cheetos.

A shiny brand new newborn baby should be calling 68-year-old Robert De Niro "PEPAW!!!" instead of "Daddy?" but the latter is what's going down in the De Niro house this holiday weekend. Because Robert's old ass and his wife Grace Hightower are parents to a baby girl born via a leased baby oven. The baby girl has a 13-year-old brother named Elliot and a bunch of half-siblings including 40-year-old Drena, 35-year-old Raphael and 16-year-olds Julian and Aaron.

Now, when my ass is 68, I want to be drunk on my porch and throwing rotten lemons at the shit-nosed brats driving their stupid ugly bikes on my lawn. I want to be a mean old cunt who's not afraid to show it. I don't want to be pulling my damn hip muscle while rocking my wailing baby to sleep at 3 in the morning. That shit ain't the life. But if that's how Robert wants to spend the Werther's Originals phase of his life, who am I to judge (I'm totally judging)?

But the best part is what Robert and Grace named their baby friend. Their rep tells People that her name is Helen Grace De Niro. Not only does Helen Grace De Niro sound like the name of a Catholic school head mistress who secretly moonlights as a lounge singer, but Helen Grace is also the name of the chocolate company that makes the most delicious fudge Easter eggs your stomach has ever digested.

These chocolate Easter eggs were serious business in my elementary school. Every year, we fought to death to sell as many as possible. It was like the middle-class suburban version of The Hunger Games. We killed each other for that shit, because the prizes were legendary. One year, I came in 5th place thanks to my mother forcing everyone at work to buy at least 3 and the prize was nothing like I have ever known before. The five of us (yes, I was last place, of course) all got into a limo and it took us on a journey of culinary pleasures. We stopped at Carl's Jr. for appetizers (fries), then pulled into the gourmet garden of desires that is McDonald's for entrees (Big Mac) and cleansed our palate at the Michelin-starred Baskin-Robbins. It will go down as the most luxurious experience of my life. For such a glamorous occasion, I wore my finest outfit which was a white turtleneck, a black chunky cardigan from Mervyn's and pleated black pants. I was dressed like an Eastern European lesbian tennis star going to a hearing to face charges of steroid abuse.

I even got to take a picture in front of the hot limo while wearing the hottest outfit I've ever owned. If my ass ever goes missing and the police ask you for a picture, please give them the one of my 10-year-old self awkwardly standing in front of that limousine. I look nothing like that anymore, but I only want people to see me in my most glamorous moment.

And I'm sure Robert's Helen Grace is as precious the Helen Grace Easter eggs I sold in order to live like Alexis Carrington for an afternoon.

Proving that you're never too old (or disabled) to beat a geezer down, two retired football players got into a cane-wielding, flower-slapping old bitch battle at the Canadian Football League alumni luncheon in Vancouver on Friday. This is what the Werther's Original aisle at Rite-Aid looked like on Black Friday. YAASSS! The real-life Grumpy Old Men shit started when 73-year-old Joe Kapp, former quarterback for the B.C. Lions, tried to give his forever arch rival, 74-year-old Angelo Mosca, former defensive tackle for the Hamilton Tiger Cats, a flower. Angelo then said the words his nurse said earlier in the day to him as she handed him a suppository: "STICK IT UP YOUR ASS!" Boom. The bell went off and the Beneficial-sponsored Pepawweight Championship of the Retirement Home was on.

Joe pushed the flower against Angelo's nose and the two went at it as the audience laughed, because priceless comedy IS two old cunts fighting over stupid shit. The only thing missing from this mess is Betty White in a bikini holding up a Round Two card as Angelo and Joe sip Ensure out of sippy cups in their corners. A winner wasn't declared, but when two old ass hos start swinging their canes at each other, we all win!

via Gawker (Thanks to Rose & Tom for sending this Metamucil mess in)

Omar Sharif is an Oscar-nominated actor, the star of Lawrence of Arabia and today he's known as a crusty old cunt who will bitch slap a trick if she gets out of line. Literally.

TMZ brings us this clip of 79-year-old Omar posing for pictures with his fans at a film festival in Qatar today when one lady scoots up and stands there. Just like your abuelita when you tried to get a piece of cake at a birthday party without asking, Pepaw Omar growled at the lady and then made her hair fly by slapping at her. That shit was like a chancelta slap without the chancelta. Since no slap down is complete without a serious talking to, Omar lectured the grown woman on the rules of waiting for a picture with a famous corroded asshole. The Washington Post translated that shit like this:

“My dear! I told you I’d get to you afterwards! I just said that and you’re standing here. Put something in your brain! ...........I’m sorry.”

More like put something in your checking account, bitch! Seriously, what gets me is that homegirl is standing there, awkwardly smiling. Is she in shock? Is she not sure what just happened? Does she not know how to react? You always have to be prepared for foolery like this.

When life slaps you with Omar Sharif's hand, you make slapanade out of that shit. You clutch your neck, you scream out in pain, you oh-so dramatically wither to the ground and you shout at your loved ones to call Gloria Allred first, the media second and an ambulance third. Then you scream out your checking account and routing number to Omar Sharif so he knows where to send his Funny Girl royalties from now on. You make it A SCENE and call it A CRIME until it starts to rain money on you. As my spirit animal Khia says, "#GETMONEYBITCH!"

These are the facts: Harry Belafonte is 84 years old and was forced to pull his sleeping bones off of his Tempur-Pedic to move his tired lips while talking about some HBO documentary to local news stations across the country yesterday morning.

This is also a fact: Reading that sentence probably lulled you into a deep keyboard nap like you just orgasmed while swallowing a cup of MSG. WAKE UP!

Okay, so because of the second fact, you can completely understand why Shari Belafonte's father slipped into a nap while waiting to talk to Eyewitness News in Bakersfield, CA. Besides, oldies are master nappers. They're almost better than cats at napping.

They wake up in the morning, sit up, slip their house shoes on and take a quick nap while sitting up. They wake up again, grab a glass of water on the bedside table and take a quick nap with their hand still on the glass. They wake up for a third time, take a sip of water and take a quick nap with the water still in their mouth. They wake up for a fourth time, swallow the water and take a quick nap again. By the time you've washed your pits, slipped on your tuxedo onesie for work and ate an entire carafe of coffee, your pepaw hasn't even gulped one sip of water.

You know what else oldies are good at? Lying about taking naps! Harry's rep is trying to say that he wasn't going mimi times, he was meditating. Ommmmmmmmmmmyoulying!

"After weeks of literally hundreds of interviews promoting his HBO documentary [Sing Your Song], memoir and CD, Mr. Belafonte had an early morning satellite TV tour this past Friday. His earpiece wasn't working, so he decided to take the time to mediate before the rest of his Day-O.

Mr. Belafonte is 84 years young, but sharper and more awake than most who have been interviewing him. Maybe the world would be a better place if more people took a moment to meditate."

Don't nap in our eyes and call it meditating! This is like my abuelita saying that she wasn't sleeping, she was quietly praying to her lord and savior to save my brat soul. Yeah, and I'm sure that wasn't snoring. The power of prayer blew the holy ghost right out of her nostrils. I know I'm gonna get it for that one....

If any of us had a stumpy mast of seasoned Italian gristle with a slug hugger full of soft bulging love communicating to us in body language to ravage him whole, we would not turn our backs to him the way Michelle Rodriguez did in Sardinia yesterday. But that's exactly what MRod did while climbing rocks and shit with Italian businessman Gianluca Vacchi. I mean, Gianluca is throwing his arms up and begging for a stick up, but MRod is denying him! Or maybe she left her dildo gun on the boat. Whatever the case may be, I hope that after those dykes on a bike rode into the sunset, their love story ended with Gianluca checking into the emergency room at 4am because he accidentally fell culo first onto a broken off strap-on. Il finito!