The inventor of cement, the makers of wedge flip-flops, Sir Isaac Newton's estate, the paparazzo who shot this, Los Angeles County and who ever built that curb should all face felony charges for their role in the crime against natural beauty that happened in Beverly Hills the other day.
While sashaying into a building in Beverly Hills, Hollywood's very own hot pink unicorn Angelyne tripped on the curb and nearly fell on her exquisitely crafted porcelain face. God would've been so damn mad if something happened to his greatest creation. You can say that it's Angelyne's fault since she was covering her face Amanda Bynes-style. But Angelyne has to cover her gorgeous face or everyone around her will go into shock from being that close to her beauty. So Angelyne was doing humanity a favor and this is what she gets for it?!
And you know, I have a feeling this was all staged by Angelyne to make all of us think that she's a mere mortal. Because we all know that Angelyne could've easily sprouted her pink angel wings and flown her face to safety.
While some of us were spending our Saturday afternoon trying to perfect the Easter Cadbury Creme Egg mojito (aka a tall drink of delicious barf) recipe we got from the gourmet journal The Daily Mail, Brit Brit Spears was in Kentwood, LA steering her blue plastic and metal chariot through the aisles of the hillbilly Shangri-La that is Walmart. The People of Walmart disappoint me, because in every single one of these pictures, they should be bowing down and showering her with the coupons they cut out from the PennySaver, because this is their queen. Brit Brit dressed up for them and everything and they failed to pay tribute to her. For shame.
Yes, that bruised and battered weave looks like it has more grease in it than the back of Matthew McConaughey's panties, but the worst part of this look is at the opposite end of her body. Brit Brit is always killing me softly with her UGGs. I am way too hungover and not daytime drunk enough to deal with that shit. I think those tin man UGGs gave me mercury poisoning.
A chorus of squishy sounds was heard at the GLAAD Awards in NYC last night when the beautimous Mama June strolled in and made everyone make sketti sauce in their panties. While showing us what it would look like if Kate Hudson was in Shallow Hal, Honey Boo Boo's maker puckered for the cameras and gave everyone some Like My Body realness. Mama June could've really come out for GLAAD by painting each one of her chins a different color of the rainbow, but she still put other hos to shame.
And those other hos were: Rickie from My-So-Called Life, Snooki, JWoww (looking like eighth runner-up for Miss Plastic Surgery Puerto Rico 1991), Milla Jovovich, Fallen Countess LuAnn with her French piece Davide Schwimmaire, the ageless Bernadette Peters, Sam Champion with his husband, John Leguizamo with his wife, noted fashion photographer Nigel Barker with his wife, Wonk-Eyed Vinny with his piece, Mo Rocca and Carmen Carrera.
If you spent time with the post below, then you probably have the taste of fame whore leche in your mouth, so rinse away that nastiness by breathing in the natural beauty of the earth goddess that is Shauna Sand. I mean, Shauna Sand is an elegant piece of parsley with fake chichis and exquisite taste in heels. If you've been looking for the perfect church ensemble that says, "I'm as pure as a drop of saliva off of a baby unicorn's tongue," then take a page from the Empress of Lucite and steal a doily out of a pre-school craft closet and turn it into a dress. As soon as you sashay through the church doors tomorrow, the entire congregation will turn away from the altar and worship at your feet instead.
Here's the most gorgeous creature in every universe with her piece Laurent Homoburger (typo and it stays) gracing Miami with their beauty the other day. You can't tell from these pictures, but every time Shauna Sand's heels touched the ground, a member of the preservation society declared that patch of concrete a historical site. And I used to think that sleeveless Ed Hardy t-shirts were the epitome of tacky, but that appreciator of beauty in the background is making me think otherwise. He obviously knows sophistication and is an authority on elegance if he's taking a picture of Shauna Sand. I will never doubt his taste.
I know you can't resist the urge, so I'll wait here as you throw a sugar cub at the screen.
One time when I went horseback riding in Ensenada, Mexico, one of the tourists riding next to me said something super cheesy like, "A horse is an angel without wings." I never agreed with saying until I saw these pictures of the ethereal Heidi Montag making a comeback to the spotlight the way all A-list superstars make a comeback to the spotlight: by hosting an anniversary party for a Las Vegas strip club.
Ever since Heidi Montag's Emmy-winning reality show Famous Food ended last year, I'm sure you've been wondering what she and her mutant tampon of a husband have been up to (no, you haven't). Well, most of us figured that she's been keeping busy by working the 7am to 11am shift on Mondays and Wednesdays at the Spearmint Rhino strip club in City of Industry, CA, but nope. The real-life Tawny Horse tells UsWeekly that she's been keeping busy by working out, helping Spencer Pratt get his poly-sci degree from USC (????) and working on her memoirs. The part of Heidi's brain that knew how to read and write was lipo'ed out by her plastic surgeon (RIP!), because fat brains are gross (ewww!), so she's writing her memoirs in stick figure form only. It could take a while.
Since Heidi and Spencer wasted all the millions they made on dumb as shit decisions, they're currently living in his parent's house. On Friday nights, Heidi is usually cleaning the toilets and windows in the Pratt house in exchange for room and board, but they gave her the night off so she could make a long-awaited appearance at the Las Vegas strip club named after her, Crazy Horse III.
Thank the plastic Gods for that, because look at all the equine elegance she served up.
I'm in L.A. and:
- It's only 7:15 in the morning and it's already so damn warm that I can run down the side of the freeway with nothing but ass lip mittens on.
- I'm so going to make french toast out of a Double Double and chutney out of off-ramp oranges for breakfast.
- And I've already been baptized as a born again citizen of Southern California by getting flipped off and called something that starts with an "f" (I'm thinking he called me a "funtabulous rascal," but I'm pretty sure he called me a "fucking asshole") when I tried to cut a Yaris off while driving out of the airport.
So, you'd think because of all of that I'd be spitting out smoggy rainbows of happiness. Well, I was until I saw these pictures that reminded me one very, VERY, very important thing: THERE'S NO ROJO CALIENTE IN LOS ANGELES! I was so blinded by the shine of weed cards and Jack In The Box dollar tacos that I completely forgot about this. Why didn't any of you bitches remind me! Sure, I can troll the aisles of some Home Depot, find a fat chola butchie and ask her to please put an orange Tupperware bowl on her head so I won't be so gingersick, but it won't be the same. WHAT HAVE I DONE? We have to go back, Kate! We have to go back to the island!
And these pictures of Cynthia Nixon, Rojo and Little Rojo Christ strolling around NYC were taken in the middle of the night. Yes, the curly rays of sun on Little Rojo Christ's head are that illuminating.
While looking like the Hotmess Monster, Lochie's skanky American cousin, human bronzer stick Aubrey O'Day posed for a paparazzo in a staged photo shoot that included a choreographed "1...2...3...NIP SLIP!" moment and some covered clam bumping with her lady friend. Aubrey is so ethereal that I'm sure even her crabs fart up pixie dust. Yes, the City of Miami Beach had to shut down this stretch of beach and keep hos from going into the ocean since Aubrey tainted it with the layers upon layers of lead-based paint she smears all over her body, but that is a small price to pay for creating natural magic like this.
Now everyone in NYC knows why they have charbroiled nipples today (read: it was hotter than hell). The air caught fire when newlyweds Cynthia Nixon and Rojo Caliente strut around NYC today. Cynthia Nixon has a look on her face that says she's over it, frustrated, about to stab choke a kitten with her bare teeth and hasn't had a peaceful bowel movement in days. That is the look on every married ho's face. It's the official look of a wife! Married life looks good on both of them, but really what doesn't? I mean, only Rojo Caliente can pull off a pair of Tommy Bahama shorts and Cynthia is melting the pavement with those Birkenstocks (aka the official footwear of the gayelles).
A little later, Cynthia was on the edge of going full Alec Baldwin on a cab driver when he refused to drive her. Once that NOT KNOWING cab driver realized that he had one of the ginger queens of the island before him, he opened up his yellow chariot and drove her to her palace. Who knew that seeing a slightly rage-filled Cynthia would put me through changes? I thought only Rojo had that effect on me.
And she looks like a judgmental cartoon caterpillar. Correction: A really hot judgmental cartoon caterpillar. But you know, Charlize Theron would still look hot even if she got a face tattoo of The Situation jacking off into a rubber vagina made of leftover CROCs. Okay, no she wouldn't. I took it too far.
Charlize buzzed all her hair off to play Furiosa in that Mad Max: Fury Road (Fun fact: The cops call the street Mel Gibson lives on "Fury Road") movie starring Tom Hardy as Max. Charlize took a Flowbee to her mane of white gold lusciousness, because in the post-Apocalypse there's nowhere to plug your flatiron and the pile of rubble that used to be a Sally's Beauty doesn't have leave-in conditioner under it. So it's best just to chop that shit off.
I'm more curious as to how Charlize cut her hair off than as to what's really hiding underneath that hat (dun dun duuuuun). When people cut all their hair off, I always ask them if they did it in a rage-filled, melodramatic, emotionally raw, Mary-J-Blige-as-your-cutting-hair-soundtrack kind of way. You know, they caught their piece rubbing his genitals all over their best friend's face or their DVR didn't record the last 10 minutes of the Mad Men finale, so they lose their minds. They run into the bathroom, look for scissors, can't find scissors, run into the kitchen, grab a knife, run back into the bathroom and start sawing off pieces of their hair while loudly bawling about how they're cutting their past away and shit. Then as their surrounded by mutilated pieces of their murdered hair, they cry sing the lyrics to Not Gon' Cry. That's some Angela Bassett in Waiting to Exhale shit and it's the only way to cut all your hair off. Do that shit with feeeeeeeling. I do it with a wig every now and again when I need to feel something.
Here's newly buzz-headed Charlize leaving a medical center in Beverly Hills yesterday with her tiny son Jackson.
Nina Arianda of 50 Shades of Venus Fur beat out Mrs. Rojo Caliente, Cynthia Nixon, for Best Lead Actress in a Play at last night's gay Super Bowl, but I'm pretty sure that a few hours later the full body orgasm she got from being named the greatest non-singing actress on Broadway faded away as she tucked that trophy into bed next to her. Nina stared deep into the doped up eyes of the scary face on the left on her trophy and knew that Cynthia was the real winner of the night since she got to tuck in ROJO CALIENTE!!!!
The reigning Queen and Queen of the ginger gayelles made their first public appearance at the TONYs since they resurrected the beaten horse known as the sanctity of marriage from the dead by becoming each other's wife three weeks ago. It makes the loins of my soul tingle knowing that after all these years together, the sight of Rojo looking dapper as a motherfucker in a Men's Warehouse tuxedo (from their debonair Hobbit collection) still makes Cynthia moist in the pits. The sign of true love IS creamy pits.