If you looked at the picture on the left and though to yourself, "Mmmmm, those tortilla chips on the floor look delicious," then you and me are the same and we're both disgusting because eating tortilla chips off the floor is nasty. If you looked at the picture on the left again and thought to yourself, "Now, that is the face of a scheming, gold digging whore pit viper," then you're right!
The beautiful bride on the left is Reese Witherspoon's stepmother Tricianne Taylor (no lie, Tricianne is a hot name) and she married John Witherspoon last year when he was still married to Reese's mother Betty Witherspoon. Shortly after the wedding, Betty sued both Tricianne and John for bigamy. John has early-onset dementia and claimed that he doesn't even know Tricianne and doesn't remember marrying her. John and Tricianne are still married and even though she's never met Reese Witherspoon, she's still scooting skid marks all over Laura Jeanne Poon's image for a quick check.
Tricianne tells The National Enquirer (via Radar) that she's not exactly surprised that Reese was a disrespectful twat to a cop, because she's treated her own father the same way. As Tricianne counted the crisp one hundred dollar bills that the Enquirer gave her, she said that Reese was such a bitch to John that he almost didn't walk his daughter down the aisle.
"She was so awful and disrespectful to her father. Reese shows very little respect to her father, and he’s been ostracized by her because she’s so angry that he married me. Based on Reese’s behavior in those police videos following her recent arrest, I believe she has a serious drinking problem and needs to get professional help."
The Enquirer adds that Trashy Anne Taylor wants $100,000 to expose all of Reese's secrets.
See, this is how I know that there's something really wrong with me. Trashy Anne sounds like a conniving, money-grubbing whore leech and John Witherspoon should've channeled Nancy Sinatra and put on those white boots to walk, far, far away from her, but I'm still reading her words and thinking to myself, "She's kind of hot." Trashy Anne is shameless, crazy and an overall mess. She's just my type.
But seriously, I love how she's diagnosing Reese even though she's never met her. I've never met Reese before and I've called her crazy, but I've never said she needs to go to rehab. But if that's what it takes to get a quick stack of hundreds from the Enquirer, then let me be the second to say: I've never met Reese Witherspoon, but she needs help!
You'd think that the only thing that would agree to marry Jesse James would be a popped anal wart on an alley rat's ass (no offense to popped anal warts on an alley rat's ass), but he actually found a living, breathing human being who wants to call him her husband. Vanilla Gorilla married billionaire shampoo and tequila heiress Alexis DeJoria in Malibu on Sunday. Either Vanilla Gorilla seriously brainwashed a ho Nazi-style or Alexis just really wants to be married to a tattooed bag of dehydrated gorilla dingles who will keep her guessing. What I mean by that is Alexis will constantly ask herself, "I wonder what kind of STD Vanilla Gorilla's nomad dick will deliver to my coochie today?"
People says that Vanilla Gorilla and Alexis DeJoria, who's also a drag racer, have only been bumping tattooed crotches for about 7 months. VG jumped on Alexis just a second after he broke up with Kat Von D. VG and Alexis got married at the Malibu home of her dad John Paul DeJoria, the co-founder of Paul Mitchell and Patron. VG's daughter Sunny was a flower girl along with Alexis' daughter Bella. The flower girls wore Hitler Youth uniforms, the bride wore this and the bride's family all wore tears on their faces, because they realized that they'll have to look at Vanilla Gorilla's punchable face every time they go to a family party.
Well, VG better start stock piling and hiding as many cases of Patron as he can, because it's only a matter of time before his fourth marriage ends when Alexis catches his dick doing the Hitler salute right into the pussy of some down river skank. Speaking of down river skanks, let's all take this to remember VG's skankiest side piece Bombshit McGee. Here's some pictures from last year of Bombshit getting her coochie warts burned and sawed off at the free clinic. Alexis, this is your future!
While millions of abuelitas replace the velvet painting of Pope Eggs Benedict hanging over their toilet with a velvet painting of Pope Francis the Fist, all of us should be worshiping a true leader and beacon of hope: Elin Nordegren. Let out the gold smoke, because the Pope of gold diggers has been found. Get on your knee and pray, Heather Mills.
After Elin got over $100 million from Tiger Woods in a divorce settlement, she started bumping genitals with the son of a billionaire tycoon for a little bit and then she supposedly got back with Tiger Woods. The rumor was that Tiger wanted to marry her again and was going to put an anti-cheating clause in their prenup, which would've given her $350 million if he passed his peen to another Waffle House waitress. But I guess Elin decided that $350 million is chump change and she better reach higher if she wants to be the Patron Saint of Gold Diggers. Enter, Elin's billionaire neighbor Chris Cline (not to be confused with the mess from American Pie.)
Page Six is saying that 33-year-old Elin has been dating 53-year-old billionaire Chris Cline since December. Chris has a mansion in the Seminole Landing area of North Palm Beach in Florida and Elin's currently building a mansion there. Chris Cline is originally from West Virginia, has been married twice, has four kids and made his $1.2 billion fortune in the coal mining business. His company, Foresight Energy, is headquartered Palm Beach.
Get it, Elin! Look at Chris Cline, he looks like pure money. I bet his pubes smell like mahogany, Italian leather and hundred dollar bills. If the luxury package on a Cadillac was turned into a human, it would look like Chris Cline. If they made a movie about Chris Cline's life, Powers Boothe would play him. You know you're really rich when Powers Boothe plays you in a movie, because Powers Boothe barely ever plays poor people. I swear, Elin's life is like an episode of Dallas.
And try not to look surprised when Chris Cline's golf game improves by 5000% thanks to Elin's lucky charm vagine.
When Elin Nordegren looks at the balance on her ATM receipt, more than half-a-dozen zeroes look back at her and sometimes it gets boring looking at all those zeroes. Sometimes you want to see even more zeroes. You want the zeroes to fall off the page and shit. The only thing better than having a checking account full of millions of dollars is having a checking account full of even MORE millions of dollars. And that's what my idol and life icon is going to make happen.
After Elin's marriage to Tiger Woods drowned in a pool side snatch syrup, she got $110 million in the divorce settlement in 2010. Since then Elin has been using her millions to build her Florida dream mansion, and she dated an American billionaire for a while. I guess that didn't work out, because The National Enquirer (via The Sun) says that Elin is back to riding Tiger and he's trying to get her to marry his ass once again. A source says that Tiger proposed to Elin during the holidays and gave her a wedding ring. Tiger is so hard up for Elin to wear the ring that he promised to put an anti-cheating clause in their prenup that states he'll give her $350 million, more than half of his fortune, if he cheats. The source said:
“Tiger didn’t even balk at the demand. Even though his accountants think he’s crazy, he’s ready to sign the pre-nup and set a wedding date. The guy has never recovered from being dumped by Elin. He’s dated a lot of models and bimbos but none of them were more than a one-night stand.”
This is from The Enquirer via The Sun, so this shit is probably about as truthful as an OKCupid profile, but I still need it to be true, because I need to believe that Elin Nordegren is the Swedish goddess of gold diggers. If it is true, then Tiger Woods must think that Elin's vagine is the gold luck charm he needs to start winning again. It will be the easiest $350 million Elin has ever made. Six seconds after that marriage certificate is signed, Elin just has to put a random coochie in front of his face and as he breaks that anti-cheating clause, she'll get on the phone with her contractor to tell him that he can go ahead and encrust the bottom of her pool with diamonds and paint her entire house in liquid platinum.
Paul McCartney always keeps bodyguards armed with bags of termites near him just in case Heather Mills shows up to attack his ass and since he was a guest at Ronnie Wood's wedding yesterday, she wasn't there to congratulate the bride on a gold digging job well done. Ronnie's bride will get her gold digger certificate of excellence from Heather Mills in the mail.
65-year-old Ronnie Wood became somebody's husband for the third time yesterday when he married his 34-year-old theater producer girlfriend Sally Humphreys at the Dorchester Hotel in London. Ronnie's best man was Rod Stewart, who looked like he was trying hard to hold the barfs in while walking through a wind tunnel, and Paul McCartney was also there. Ronnie's bandmates Mick Jagger and Keith Richards weren't there, because I'm sure they went to one of his other weddings and when you've been to one Ronnie Wood wedding, you've been to them all. Besides, even though some of them are sober (I think), when they get together in the same room, scared bitches start stocking up on booze thinking a shortage is coming.
When Ronnie left his reception last night, he said this to The Sun's reporter:
"I'm feeling great. It was excellent, so great. Brilliant.”
I know, you just had to read those words. They are really important.
You're probably thinking that Ronnie's latest marriage is going to last about as long as a sex fart, but I have a feeling it's going to last a little bit longer than that. Sally sort of looks Snow White-ish and Ronnie looks like a Magic Troll doll who chopped off all his hair, moved to the enchanted forest and became the leader of the woodland creatures. Snow White loves creatures of the enchanted forest, so they're perfect for each other!
Gold diggers of the world, you now have a new icon to pay tribute to. Janice Dickinson is proving that you can never be too insane or plastic faced to catch a rich ass husband. Take note, Lindsay Lohan. The world's first supermodel (the world being the bubble of craziness she lives in) tells TooFab that sometime next spring, she will become somebody's wife for the fourth time and will become a doctor's wife for the first time. Janice's piece of a few months Dr. Robert Gerner, who has a cautious look on his face like he's always prepared to be slapped with a silicone titty bag by a crazed banshee, gave her a diamond Victorian promise ring and he will give her a real engagement ring sometime soon.
Janice and Dr. Robert's love started blooming a few months ago when they met on a blind date at Chateau Marmont. Janice said she knew right away that he's the one whose life she wants to ruin and went on to say that "he's the ying to my yang." Janice and Dr. Robert recently bought a Hollywood Hills home together and they're throwing a housewarming/engagement party this weekend. They've invited Kunty Karl (no joke), Donatella Versace (no joke), Sandra Bullock (no joke) and Slash (he'll probably show up).
You're probably assuming that Dr. Robert is a plastic surgeon, because he obviously appreciates a non biodegradable goddess who has been shellacked a thousand times over, but you're wrong. The punchline is that Dr. Robert is a psychiatrist. I know, it's almost as if Dr. Robert is an undercover agent for The Los Angeles County Department Of Mental Health and was hired to lure Janice Dickinson to their "new love nest in the Hollywood Hills" (aka Cedars Sinai Psychiatry Department). It's a set up! Run, Janice, ruuuuuuuun (but not before you grab Dr. Robert's empty prescription pad and all his samples of Xanax).
(Pic via Flickr)
Crystal Harris' last diamond engagement ring that Hugh Hefner gave her ended up on someone else's finger after she auctioned it off for $38,000 (it cost $90,000) and now here's the latest diamond ring that'll end up in a pawn shop dealer's hand in a few months when her marriage ends and she can't make the payment on her leased Mercedes. Since Hef can barely remember what flavor of Snack Pack pudding he had for breakfast, he doesn't remember that Crystal left him sitting on his Hoveround at the altar and then sold her engagement ring to Christie's. He probably thinks she's new here. So they're getting married on New Year's Eve and she flaunted her new gold digger prize on Twitter yesterday! ROMANCE!
The ring is as tacky as her white and pink French manicure, but at least it's big and shiny. It gives Crystal something to ooooh and aaaaah at when Hef's comatose caterpillar dick slips out of her and two nurses have to resuscitate it with two tiny defibrillator pads before shoving it back in her coochie.
I've thrown hate at Crystal before for being a failure of a gold digger, but maybe I was wrong and she's really pulling a genius scheme. Hef is notorious for giving his whores only two confederate coins for allowance and the last time he was going to marry Crystal, he made her sign a serious prenup, so a gold digger has to get that money one way or another. So maybe Crystal won't show up to the wedding AGAIN and in a couple of months, she'll sashay back into the Playboy Mansion. By that time Hef would've forgotten about their last engagement, so he'll propose again and give her another diamond ring. Crystal will keep doing that until she's got half of Hef's fortune in her gold digger wheelbarrow. Crystal should open up her own pawn shop, so she can cut out the middle man. #getthoseengagementringsbitch
Bottom shelf porn star turned gay-for-pay gold digger Nick Gruber was Calvin Klein's leased toy for a little over two years and now he's writing a tell-all book about his time in CK, because he thinks everyone wants to know the details of how he licked Calvin's overcooked ham hocks for fancy gifts. Nick gave Page Six Magazine (via WOW Report) a little taste of what's in the tell-all and it's pretty hilarious.
Nick says that even though Calvin Klein bought him a $250,000 Bentley sports car and kept him in a West Village penthouse, he never once asked for a dime and has never used anybody for money (HAHAHA #1). Nick was in the army when he met Calvin and the sweet scent of easy money and formaldehyde made him quit. Nick used that whole "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" shit to his advantage by telling his first sergeant that he was gay, which got him discharged (HAHAHA #2). Nick was living the high life with Calvin for two years and then the beginning of the end came when a friend stayed the night with him. Calvin's housekeeper ratted on a bitch and then this happened:
“Calvin picked me up in his car, drove me down to the Holiday Inn in Chelsea, and we went downstairs in the basement of the hotel. He made me take a lie-detector test. I passed it. And then, you know, things were much better. But I mean, what kind of partner would make you take a lie detector test?”
What partner would make you take a lie detector test? The kind of partner who practically bought your ass. Nick claims he's straight, so he was only slurping on Calvin's 60-something slow cooked dick (you know the meat just falls off the bone) for money. That makes him Calvin's employee pretty much and Calvin had to make sure nobody else was touching his shit. (Side note: If you're a professional kept bitch and you break your ass or bruise your peen on the job, do you get worker's comp?)
Nick, who's got a new sugar daddy in California, says that he knows he'll always hold a special place in Calvin's heart:
"I was the first man [Calvin] fell in love with. I don't know why, but there's, like, something about me that attracts everyone. I have a nickname called Romeo. I get every girl, and even guys. Something about me draws them all in."
Romeo is right. I'm drawn in, aren't you? Let's all put our laundry money together and rent Romeo for one night. We'll just sit back and stare at him as he casually flashes his freshly waxed armpit while lying against a grand piano.
Oh, and Calvin took back that $250,000 Bentley after they broke up. But at least Nick got to keep those new teeth in his mouth and when his current sugar daddy bought him a BMW motorcycle, he made sure the title was in his name. The gold digger is finally learning how to gold dig the right way.
The mournful wail of a sad Falcor has been filling the valleys of Los Angeles every night, because LeAnn Rimes is crying about possibly losing the only thing that keeps her in the tabloids: her gold digging husband Eddie Cibrian. Eddie is living a life of luxury, but it's hard for him to fully enjoy caviar and champagne when it's been tainted by the insanity that LeAnn spews out every second of the day.
A source, whose name probably rhymes with Candy ManPill, tells Star Magazine (via Radar) that Eddie is regretting the day he legally became LeAnn's kept bitch. LeAnn is on the opposite side of sane and Eddie can't take it anymore. Eddie told LeAnn that he needs to spend some time away from her craziness (read: stick his head in a side piece's crotch until the ringing in his hears from listening to LeAnn's crazed screeches goes away). Meanwhile, LeAnn thinks that if she fills her womb with a squinting foal or colt, Eddie will stay. The source said this:
"It never seems to end. He can't take all of the drama anymore. He told her he needs some time alone to get his head together.
Eddie has to pay child support for [his sons with Brandi Glanville,] Mason and Jake. And let's face it, his career is at a standstill. LeAnn is the breadwinner and he's not about to destroy that gravy train. But he's checked out emotionally. Being with LeAnn is a lot of work. Eddie's staring to question whether it's even worth it.
LeAnn is trying to save her marriage by having a baby. She's taking vitamins and charting her cycle, and she's even putting on a few pounds, hoping it will help her conceive. Her goal is to be pregnant in 2013, no matter what -- even if she has to try IVF. She blames some of her emotional problems on not having a baby of her own."
Let me fix that third sentence for the source: "He told her he needs some time alone to get head from another ho." There, that's better.
Eddie Cibrian is such a sad excuse for a gold digger. That piece of trash needs to suck it up. What kind of wallet fucker stops milking his cash cow just because she's annoying? Do you think Heather Mills liked listening to Beatles songs all day? No, but she drowned those songs out with the ka-ching sound of dollar signs popping in her head. Do you think Vanessa Bryant enjoys inhaling a cloud of side skank every time Kobe Bryant comes home? No, but she's getting through it by imagining the day when the only thing she'll inhale is the sweet scent of money, honey.
Living with a wild, untamed, crazy horse isn't easy (I have seen The Horse Whisperer), but Eddie's weak ass needs to pull his eyes out of the squint position and keep both of his seeing globes on the prize. What an embarrassment that Eddie Cibrian is.
If Radar and The National Enquirer are both spreading the truth, then Papa Joe Simpson really does like to squeeze and lick the cream out of a Twinkie. The National Enquirer turned the knob and opened up Papa Joe's closet door earlier this week when they said that his marriage turned to butt dust when he told his family that he loves the dick. The Enquirer's source said that Papa Joe was slapping nuts with a 20-something boy toy and Radar thinks they know who it is.
Radar says that 21-year-old "aspiring model" Bryce Chandler Hill has been bragging to the gays in West Hollywood that he's climbing his way up the fame ladder by climbing on top of Papa Joe's good Christian dick. ONTD might've found some proof in this little flirty exchange on Twitter been BC and PJ last July. I don't know if it's because of that outfit or that flirty tweet from Papa Joe, but my b-hole just twitched itself into a temporary coma.
Radar's source says that Bryce met 54-year-old Papa Joe through TJ Espinoza, a back-up dancer and one of Jessica and Ashlee's friends. Even though Papa Joe was lounging in the back of the closet with the lights turned off, Bryce was still blabbing about how he was boning and using Papa Joe to get ahead. None of Bryce's friends believed him until this week. The source put it like this:
“Joe Simpson being outed by the National Enquirer was no surprise to the gay community in Hollywood, Bryce has been bragging about hooking up with Joe for a while now. Bryce is close to TJ Espinoza, who in turn is good friends with both Jessica and Ashlee and worked for Britney Spears as a back-up dancer. TJ introduced Bryce to the Simpsons – and that’s how he met Joe.
Bryce claims he’s been dating Joe for roughly a year and absolutely loves to boast about it because he loves being the center of attention. He’s also been quick to tell anyone that will listen that he’s using Joe to climb the showbiz ladder. Bryce is desperate to become famous, he’s done lots of modeling shoots and wants to become an actor. When he met Joe, he knew what a good job he had done in managing Jessica and Ashlee’s careers and wanted a piece of the pie himself. But the sad thing is, he mocks and laughs at Joe behind his back. He doesn’t care for him in the same way Joe does about him."
Bryce said on Twitter that this story is made of lies.
I should've known that Papa Joe's type would be a tanning bed-cooked twink who has side swept bangs just so he can fill the air with gold glitter when he flips his hair like a Breck Girl while dancing shirtless to a Robyn song in the middle of a WeHo gay club. The kind of twink who sprays Victoria's Secret passion fruit body mist on his bleached butt flower. That would be Papa Joe's type.
But you know, I feel sorry for Papa Joe. I don't feel sorry for Papa Joe because he's getting played by a spotlight-fucking, gold digging piece of tampon lint. I feel sorry for Papa Joe because he's obviously trying to twinkify himself. Have you seen those tragic pictures at TMZ? Dude looks like Gary Busey as Ellen DeGeneres. Papa Joe needs the right gays around him. Papa Joe needs someone to tell him that wearing that sweater is only okay if you're a Wakefield twin and that hair just made Ken Paves stroke his favorite shears and promise them that he'd never ever make them commit a hair massacre like that. Papa Joe's hair is a level 10 tragedy. And that white iPhone? No words.
A mid-life crisis should not involve peroxide. It just shouldn't.