Free Clinic Shit

Well, that didn't take long. Celebslam reports that your favorite man whore and mine (okay not even in our top 10 really) Ashton Kutcher was in Rome over Christmas with his new squeeze Lorene Scafaria. She's a 33-year-old screenwriter who some say he started seeing back in February when he auditioned for one of her films. But that math doesn't make sense, since he was still very married to his mom Demi Moore then!! And still is, right? Oh what the fuck am I saying, you know it's totally true. She was reportedly in a relationship when they met too. Birds of a SUCIO! feather nesting, how sweet.

According to Celebslam:

"During their private sojourn, the couple tooled around in a Porsche Carrera Sports 2011 and holed up at a private pad. During a romantic lunch at Pizzeria Trattoria Toscana in Pisa on Christmas Eve, they 'held hands,' witness Alex Thorpe tells Us. 'They shared spaghetti, and he paid.'"

Well isn't that EXCITING. Holding hands and eating spaghetti! I wonder if they slurped a noodle until they accidentally smooched and he rolled a meatball to her with his nose like in Lady and the Tramp. Between that greasy mess of hair on his head and his vagabond peen he's got the tramp part DOWN. Move the fuck over Paris, between this and Michael K's presence Rome is the new city of love.

.....and it is the exact opposite of this methtastic display of freckled roughness that was spit out of a crack house's toilet and rolled onto the red carpet of the launch party for some video game in L.A. last night. That S in the background doesn't stand for Supper Club. It's the Health Department's newest rating: S for SkeezaSitDown!

The highly flammable weave, the cheeks that make her look like she's storing 8-balls for the winter and her signature collagen labia lips all need more JESUS (or something) in their lives, but Lindsay Lohan's nostrils are another thing. It's like a mob of coke granules did the Occupy Nostrils march right up into her nose innards. LiLo has snorted around the block a few times, so she should know that right after your nose eats a line of the bad shit off of a glove compartment lid in your dealer's Chevy pick-up, you have to settle down your swollen nostrils with some Prep H. Amateur slip-up that disappoints White Oprah so.

Now on to the thing that everyone is hissing and throwing sprinkles of Listerine at:

For the love of Nana Lohan, can't a bitch spike her Red Bull with some fluoride or even some paint thinner. Those Teeths of Meth look like Gollum's fingernails after he fisted a zombie with diarrhea. If you scraped the several thick layers of crack-infused smegma off of her teeth and shoved it into a pipe and smoked it, you'd probably get a quick buzz. That's what dentists called "methavitis."

But being the fashion forward icon that she is, maybe LiLo is way ahead of all of us and knows that the next big trend will be to match the color of your teeth to the color of your ass lips.

If you ever get a promotional e-mail from a site called Netdix, you can send your complaints to Maggie Gyllenhaal for putting ideas into people's heads and other places. Maggie is out promoting Hysteria, that movie she did about the world's first vibrator, and says that while filming it several London sex toy stores sent her enough electro pussy ticklers to fill an episode of Whoarders (and a Scientology men's sauna). It was like Clitmas for her cooze!

Maggie tells The Cut (via Gothamist) that she has a selfless vagina and wants to gift all of her friends with nut busting goodness so she lends her vibrators out and they use them for months at a time. YES. Maggie shares her vibrators. Do they even make vibrator sanitizer? What about vibrator condoms? This pussy dust sharing nasty bitch!

"By the time I finished the movie I'd been sent maybe 15 vibrators by different people in London with vibrator stores. It was a pleasant surprise. So I have this incredible collection, and I actually use like one or two of them. I lend them to my friends, and they’ll take them for six months at a time. [While shooting Hysteria] I was sent a lot of vibrators from different sex stores in England while we were shooting the movie. I shared them around."

This mess of words did make me ewwwwwww from every body hole (Hazmat is on their way), but then I thought about it. I mean, I became blood brothers with my best friend when I was a kid. Isn't this sort of the same thing? If you're both surfing the red tide at the same time you had dirty silicone sex with the same vibrator, isn't that like a blood sisters ceremony? Or let me put it this way. Let's say you and your friend were both new kinds of drunk and a peen landed in front of you, would you lick it at the same time? You're a shameless whore slut so just say YES. Sharing vibrators is practically the same thing! It's like prolonged group sex for the lonely.

P.S. - If you ever get that e-mail from Netdix, forward it my way.

Remember back in March when you had to stand in the long line at the free clinic to get your ear holes gargled out with an amoxicillin rinse after you made the mistake of listening to Kim Kardashian's whorrendous shit single which sounded like a drugged skank toddler faking an orgasm for an illegal underground chat line? Well, Kim made a video for that piece of shit and above is a 1-minute preview that leaked yesterday. To say that the leak Ray-J's crooked dick made on Kim during her sex tape was more enjoyable to watch than this leak is a damn understatement bigger than the corroded cum ball Pimp Mama Kris pushed out after E! passed her a check for her main whore's wedding.

But it brings a fart to my asshole to see that Kim has finally returned to what she's good at: slithering around like a fat fish dying in an oil slick. This is some public access soft core shit from the early 90s and I'm mad that Robin Byrd doesn't pop out to tell us that you can get a personal lap dance from this lovely lady during her day shift at Cheetah's.

Kim is as brave as she is untalented, though. The last time a gross, greasy pig crawled around like that in a Kardashian's presence, Khloe galloped onto the set, grabbed it by its neck and dragged it kicking and squealing to her eatin' den. Where the the hell was Khloe Kardashian when we needed her most?!

If you're like me and made the mistake of watching that pile of ass lube, then I guess I'll see you in line at the free clinic for an amoxicillin eyeball rinse!

Here's Kourtney, her kid, Scott Dickhead and Kim arriving at JFK last night to start shooting their reality show Kim & Kourtney Take It Up The Ass in NYC. I didn't know Louis Vuitton made custom made Nuvaring cases for big-pussied whores?

Now is the time to empty your piggy penis bank and invest all of those coins in Valtrex since that stock is going to fly higher than Derek Jeter's succulent chichi balls when he jumps, because his dick is back out on the stroll. Minka Kelly's spokeswhore tells People that they have split up after 3 years together, but she'll still think of him fondly every time she has to come up with a creative way to scratch at the herp bumps on her chocha in public. Yeah, that's why you sometimes see Minka Kelly and MiserAlba break out into the Tootsie Roll for absolutely no fucking reason.

But here's a tip, Minka. POCKETS! Don't leave home without 'em. Pockets aren't for storing shit, they're there so that your sneaky hand can scratch at the gift that keeps on outbreaking while around public eyes. Pockets are also there so you can relocate your dick when it gets caught in your nut thigh alley, but I don't think Minka has that problem.

Here's what the second-tier Leighton Meester impersonator's rep had to say about this shit:

"They care about each other and it was amicable. They're still friends."

I'm surprised they lasted this long. That mega man whore Derek Jeter must have a mute button on his ears, because Minka's voice is like the sound equivalent of chewing aluminum foil. Bitch's voice is the worst. It sounds like a whiny baby with nasal allergies trying to do a voice impersonation of JLo. But this is still sad news (no, it isn't). Now who is Minka going to whine to when an asshole of a flight attendant refuses to let her stupid dog sit with her in first class? That's a problem worse than coochie warts.

So Hef teared in his shaken-not-stirred verrry dirty martini for a whole week and a half, straightened up his silk jammies, and got another trick to ride his Viagramobile. Bitch boom bye Crystal, it was nice knowing you. Okay, not really.

TMZ says the new toddler in Hef's playpen is Miss January 2011 Anna Sophia Berglund. What a refreshing departure from his usual bleach blond bimbo with huge fake tittays lineup! And she's an older woman, 24 days older than Crystal-what-was-her-name. Bravo on growing up, Hef!!

Speaking of side pieces, thanks so much for all the love today. MK makes this shit look as easy as me on a Saturday night but it's not!! I didn't expect so much support. You are the loving jock strap to our limp noodles, and thank you for putting up with this sub-par shit for a week. XOXOXO

Sometimes a priceless story comes along that makes you feel grateful that there are TMI whores out there who will spill the crotch crustaceans to sell their book and this is one of those times. Florence Henderson is out peddling her memoirs and she's doing so by releasing an excerpt that explains the time the Mayor of New York made her coochie hum the melody to Sea of Love by giving her the gift that keeps on itching. The New York Daily News reports the story that'll make every guest at the Brady house wish they would've never tried Alice's famous cold craw stew.

"I was lonely. I knew it wasn't the right thing to do," writes Henderson, who was married at the time.
Henderson returned home after the romp. When she awoke the next morning, she spotted "little black things" crawling over her body.

Henderson immediately called a doctor who helped her get rid of the tiny parasitic insects also known as pubic lice.

Lindsay, ever the politician, sent Henderson flowers and an apology letter.

"Guess I learned the hard way that crabs do not discriminate but cross over all socioeconomic strata," Henderson writes in "Life is Not a Stage," set for publication in September.

"He must have had quite the active life. What a way to put the kibosh on a relationship."

Mayor Lindsay died in the year 2000 so he's giving crabs to the angels now and can't defend himself or turn down an offer to be the spokeswhore for Nix's crab-killing cream for slutty seniors.

Those were the good old days. When the dicks of New York politicians were whipping up a serving of crab pie in the crotches of wholesome TV moms. Nowadays our politicians only do boring shit like send boring pictures of their boring peens to Twatter tramps.

And thanks to Florence Henderson, I'll now be singing "Here's a story of a whory lady..." all day long.

Before we belly flop into this mess of dick grease and red dye stains, can I just say that I've been trying so hard to exorcise RiRi's "Oh naaa naaa naaa" shit song from my head for weeks. It follows me wherever I go and terrorizes me no matter what I'm doing. Yesterday, I was FINALLY able to wash it out and replace it with Lady Analbelly's (or whatever their name is) "Need You Now" (you can file your judgments here). Yes, I know it's like replacing caca with vomit, but I was happy to flush the NA-NA from my head finally. But last night, as I was waiting in line at the grocery store to buy jelly beans and a bag of carrots, a child eviling with a raggedy ponytail started singing THAT SONG out loud. This confirms that children are creatures from the dark side who can scan your mind for weaknesses and use it against you when you least expect it. And now the NA NA is back thanks to that little girl with a jacked up ponytail. Moving on...

The Sun's technical engineers built a microscopic BlackBerry dingle that crawled into RiRi's phone and sucked in all the text messages she sends out including the ones to Colin Farrell. Apparently, Colin and RiRi got hard for one another when they met on Graham Norton's show last December. They exchanged numbers and she's been filling his BlackBerry screen with all kinds of naughty shit every since. Colin, who is split up from the mother of his child, can't wait to make their sext adventures happen in real life. The Sun's source went on, "Colin was taken aback by some of the texts. He reckons he might well be in there. They're both single, so why not? Colin and Rihanna have made plans to meet up in LA when their hectic schedules allow."

So this story is about two individuals who are currently partaking in the dry sport of text fucking and will most likely never take it further than that... Okay. But this totally reminds me of one of the best (see: most pathetic) sext sessions I've ever had. It was the dude from Oregon that I met online. This motherfucker never wanted to talk on the phone and I quickly learned why. He was like the Fellini of sexting! It was a serious art for him. Dude would write detailed stage directions like: *walking into the room while slowly ripping my shirt off over my head*. Stupid shit like that. I'm a wham, bam, let's do this kind of bitch, so I finally asked him to send me a picture of his peen. This ho wrote back, "Let me describe it instead." BITCH WHAT?! Stop harlequin-ing my ass, get in front of a bathroom mirror and take that dick shot! Seriously, the only reason they have cameras on phones is for dick picture taking! But I let him continue to write his soft core text play, because it was funny.

I'd try to play along, but sometimes I'd forget the format and he'd remind me in a not-so-polite way how he does things. He'd text in parenthesis: "(don't forget to use the * when describing an action)." Shit. Since when did sexting become a community college English class? I should've received credits for that shit. Oh, how many times I wanted to type: "*CUT. SCENE. *going to get a bag of cheese curls*"

It was seriously one of the most unsexiest things I've ever done and that's saying a lot. The only thing he made me want to grab was my throat to keep from laughing.

After Cyrano de Bergerwhack ate up my text message plan by writing the worst romance novel ever, it was time for the grand finale and I really couldn't wait. The anticipation might have given me a twitch or two. It was like waiting for the last episode of Lost. And then it came, this ho actually typed out: "oh my god *i'm cumming so hard* xcvdjfdsalkjflaksdfjoidfuoudfads123adfjkljsdeoi."

I STILL CAN'T.

What the hell was that tossed salad of characters supposed to mean? Bitch came so hard that his cum drops shot at the keys? Or that he had a full body seizure which made his fingers pound against the keys before conveniently landing on "send"? No, thanks. I turned off my phone and made a mental note to block his number. Ho went too far.

And now that I think about it, it was probably Colin Farrell.

The Simple Life was the last network TV show to openly brag about giving you a down low itch that requires topical cream, so this was a long time coming. The "Catch VD" billboard below is currently infecting Times Square and the ad above will soon be hanging over cities like the stubborn skin of a wart that refuses to be torn off.

The CW doesn't specifically say what kind of VD you will catch by watching Vampire Diaries, but based on how sweaty the bitches in the cast are, I'm going to go with gonorrhea. They look like they've been up all night furiously scratching at the itch on their b-holes and wiping the discharge from their leaky genitals on their bodies. But The CW thinks I'm crazy (you can stop right there and the sentence will be factual) for conjuring up that image, because they don't mean it like that. Uh huh. When you pull my dick, The CW, make sure you put a rubber glove on first.

“VD simply stands for Vampire Diaries, and anyone who thinks otherwise should probably get themselves checked out.”

The next time I get a CDC-mandated check-up, I'm sending the bill to The CW! But seriously, I hope that The CW does the right thing and recycles those billboards by hanging one over Derek Jeter's bed and sticking another one on Parasite Hilton's front gate.

via EW.com

Or maybe I'm seeing one of her trapped dogs raising a white flag from inside her asshole? Who knows. In case you couldn't tell from your Norton shutting down and a pop-up from the health department hitting your screen, this is Parasite Hilton summoning a swarm of locusts by bending over to pick up a stuffed Baby Bugs Bunny in an alley way in L.A. yesterday. Now we know how Frodo Baggins felt right before Mount Doom erupted. DAMN YOU, stuffed Baby Bugs Bunny!