Love & Handjobs

Talking gay Siamese Cat Andy Cohen made an "I see what you did there" on Watch What Happens Live! last night when he handed Anderson Cooper an electric handjob trainer that most of us know as the Shake Weight. I'm sort of on a semi-mahboobatical, because my fucked-up obsession reached the top levels of insanity and I realized that he was keeping Carrot Top from making more appearances in my fap dreams. So when Andy handed him that Shake Weight, I stuffed a Valium in my peen hole to keep it from exploding off of my crotch while knocking my dormant Mah Boo obsession (mahboobsession?) back into me, but I didn't need to do that! Because Anderson's Shake Weighting skills barely registered a 0.00001 on the fap scale. Watch and be prepared to know what it feels like when your genitals frown:

We all know that Anderson can shake a weight with the best of them, because it's etched into the tiles in the bathroom at Eastern Bloc, but the ho held back. I'm surprised that green Shake Weight didn't turn blue from the sexual frustration The Silver Fox put it through. I'm sure Horny Bear would say that he's seen actual silver foxes in the forest handle a Shake Weight better than Anderson did. But you know, I put all the blame on Andy Cohen. Andy should've given Anderson a Shake Weight that was olive-colored, covered in throbbing veins and had at least two biceps on it. Give Anderson something to work with!

via Buzzfeed (Thanks to everybody who sent this in)

Attention all half-blind, stubble-having, employed rugby players who are not named Brian or Nigel, Sinead O'Connor is hornier than a Catholic priest at an altar boy open call and is looking to get dicked before she starts humping cab bumpers (her words). There comes a time in every DFD (desperate for dick) gay's life when he falls in love with Sinead all over again and this is the time for me. Sinead's hungry hungry O'Poon is chomping at the bit and she put its moans for peen into words on her blog.

Sinead sounds so desperate that a ho would think her only requirement is a "getup ready dick," but she actually gets pretty specific. Very specific.

My shit-uation sexually/affectionately speaking is so dire that inanimate objects are starting to look good as are inappropriate and/or unavailable men and/or inappropriate and/or unavailable fruits and vegetables. I tell you yams are looking like the winners. I actually do know a woman who is a performance artist from America. I have a photo of her being escorted arm in arm by two uk police man onto a plane back home cuz she humped a yam in the middle of her show. I just know that's going to happen to me if I don't take drastic action.

Needless to say what I do for a living makes it hard for me to find men that only want me cuz they like my (legendary) arse. Yet I am in the peak of my sexual prime and way too lovely to be living like a nun. and it's VERY depressing.

So I've been pondering on whether or not I should join some Irish dating agencies. Of course if I did it would end up in papers so I may as well save myself the registration fees. Besides which a friend of mine uses dating agencies and half the men actually have wives.

Am in desperate need of a very sweet sex-starved man.

He must be no younger than 44.

Must be living in Ireland but I don't care if he is from the planet Zog.
Must not be named Brian or Nigel.

Must be blind enough to think I'm gorgeous.

Has to be employed. Am not fussy in what capacity generally but vehicle clampers need not apply.

Leather trouser- wearing gardai, fire-men, rugby players, and Robert Downey-Junior will be given special consideration. As will literally anyone who applies.

I like me a hairy man so buffed and/or waxed need not apply.

No hair gel.

No hair dryer use.

No hair dye

Stubble is a non-negotiable must. Any removal of stubble would be upsetting for me.

No after shave.

Must be very 'snuggly'. Not just wham-bam.

Must be wham-bam.

Has to like his mother.

Has to like his ex and or mother/s of his children.

Has to live in own place.

I must end now as I have a hot date with a banana

Applicants can apply through my secretary at vampyahslayah@yahoo.com

Sinead posted this plead for peen on August 20th and she thought she found a hairy fuck beast to handle her right, but then he told her he has a knocked up girlfriend. So Sinead's vagina is back to shooting out flares and the search continues. Sinead has since dropped the "No Brians or Nigels" requirement and said she'll also consider ladies. Oh, and if you cringe at the poop noodle, Sinead isn't interested.

I've been repeatedly asked will I 'do anal sex'. Let me make it very clear.. Any man I contemplate has to be into anal sex.. It was a family paper so they wudnt have printed it but let me now take time to make VERY clear that yes I 'do anal' and in fact I would be deeply unhappy if 'doing anal' wasn't on the menu, amongst everything else$$ So if u don't like 'the difficult brown'.. Don't apply... I've had reasonable complaints from lesbians that they have been excluded. This was terribly remiss of me and I would now like to make it clear that women will also be very much considered. As will Brians and Nigels.. Since there were complaints there too.

The difficult brown?! I think we're all done here. I hereby nominate Sinead O'Connor as head writer of all our Craigslist, Grindr and OKCupid ads.

via ONTD

The gorgeous, sensitive and sensible Charlize Theron (NO sarcasm this time, don't pass out), the girl I would totally go ghey for, the object of my adoration and my avatar has said before that she would never get married until gays can. Me: CHARLIZE I AM SO ON BOARD, WAIT FOR ME BABY!!! Anyway, in September 2009, she said "I do have a problem with the fact that our government has not stepped up enough to make [marriage equality] federal...I really understand marriage and I respect marriage. I just feel that we should all have equal rights."

I have to say that in my experience, I think marriage is a huge stinking steaming pile of bullshit (jaded much?) but like Charlize, I totally support other people to make the biggest mistake of their lives no matter what their sexual orientation is. No, really, marriage CAN be a beautiful thing. I've seen it work and we all want to grow old with someone who loves us enough to smear Ben Gay where our bathing suit covers.

In a recent interview on CNN, which you can watch here on Towleroad, she reiterates her stance, adding that marriage is not important for her (SUHWOOOON AGAIN) but that she understands its importance to other people. She ends the interview by saying "We should all have equal rights. Love is such a divine thing, it's a gift, and who are we to say?"

It's a sensitive subject, but I'm with Charlize (I fucking wish). I mean, if two adults love each other enough to make that leap, and only fuck on each other till they die, and put up with each other's morning breaf and shitty moods for the rest of their lives, I think they should be able to. Marry me Charlize!! *licks monitor*

Note: Stolen from MK's Afternoon Crumbs. I swore off the comments section this week and couldn't just let this shit lie.

Since Michael K is not around to hold my hand (I tried to get him to hold my ass but there's that whole "ew, GIRL" issue) and jacko is off doing God knows what (GOD knows jacko!! Jussayin!), I had to try to find something on the interwebs myself. I hit every site I could think of and came up with NADA. So this is a post about nothing. Cause that's what I got, NOTHING.

You know, nothing is highly underrated. Nothing needs to get a little love now and then, just like the rest of us sluts. No one has caressed nothing's nalgas since the 90s when Jerry Seinfeld ruled the airways, and that is a sad, sad thing. People are always ripping on nothing, saying hateful shit like "nothing is more pathetic than Paris Hilton." WRONG and INSENSITIVE.

So nothing, let's drown our sorrows together in booze and bong hits. You guys can consider this OP2, or ignore it, or whatever makes your man in the boat float. Nothing is sacred. Nothing really matters. It's NOTHING to me!

If any of you sluts have a juicy tidbit to share, I'm all ears. Otherwise I'm gonna sit here doing NOTHING (rrrrrOOOOoowwwr!), and nothing is (not) going to stop me.

Excerpts from Bristol Palin's autobiography titled Not Afraid of Life: My Journey So Far (Working Title: Northern Sexposure) are starting to leak like the broken condom that turned her into America's most famous knocked up teenager, and it looks like we've all got something in common with her! We all got our cherry plucked (or ass cherry plucked in some cases) while completely tanked on life's classiest semi-alcoholic syrup: wine coolers!

Bristol writes that during a camping trip with Levi Johnston and their friends, she got hit by the drunk stick from drinking wine coolers and when she woke up the next morning, her hymen reside was all over his peen. Bristol didn't remember a thing. If only Paul Revere was there to wake Bristol up and warn her that Levi was a comin'. Cut to Whoopi Goldberg saying, "It wasn't RAPE rape." UsWeekly has a piece:

Palin says she woke up alone in her tent, with no recollection as to what happened. Johnston, meanwhile, "talked with his friends on the other side of the canvas."

When she confronted him about their sexual encounter, Johnston, now 21, told Palin what she wanted to hear: they wouldn't have sex again until they were married.

But, Palin writes, they became intimate again shortly after. When she learned she was pregnant in 2008, Palin was on birth control pills prescribed to treat her cramps; it took eight home pregnancy tests to convince her that she was expecting.

Palin's parents, to her surprise, were incredibly supportive. They also reminded her to stay focused on the future, particularly her continuing education. Johnston's reaction was less comforting. "Better be a fucking boy," he told her.

After Bristol birthed out Tripp, she found out that Levi was plugging his Alaskan pipeline into several whores. They broke up for good when Bristol found that Levi put a baby in another girl and named him Bentley, which was Tripp's original name. And of course, Levi has his own book coming out next month with his side of the story.

So basically, before Bristol got jaw surgery turning her into the image of what Punky Brewster would look like if she was adopted by the Kardashians, she was Quinn Fabray from Glee? That means Levi Johnston is like Puck! Well, if you replaced Puck's looks, body and swagger with old moose meat, douche icicles and rocks. Who knew that Bristol's teenage life was produced by Ryan Murphy?

And here's my new favorite couple Ryan Gosling and director Nicolas Winding at the Cannes premiere of Drive tonight. I'm totally nominating Ryan & Nicholas as hottest couple for the yearbook. WindLing 4 EVA! Yeah, I know they're not a couple COUPLE couple, but they're doing shit that most couples don't do it like: touch their heads so that an invisible heart frame surrounds them, kiss in public, have deep conversations about their inner most feelings and canoodle. (Sort of off-topic: one friend had to tell me that to him "canoodle" sounds like noodles made out of canary meat. And now the only thing I can think of when I see two people cuddling while standing is how they are making noodles out of canary meat with each hug.)

Anyway, the next time you think you're in love, take a picture with the bitch you think you're in love with. If it doesn't look EXACTLY like this, then dump the motherfucker and go on to the next. It's not true love! I know because Nicolas is making the same look I make when I pose with my Anderson Cooper pillow case in my bathroom mirror.

After hearing about Bruce Vilanch and James Franco's MS Paint ball fight last night, I'm sure you wore out the steel in your bed springs from tossing and turning like you've got a circle of hemorrhoids around your hips. Well, kiss the bags under your eyes goodbye, because James and Bruce have made up! You can finally sleep now that you no longer have troubles in your world!

In case you accidentally filed this story into the back of the "don't care" bin, it all started when Bruce told a reporter at Vulture that he felt James Franco' "didn't get there" as co-host of the Oscars. James responded by Tweeting an MS Paint masterpiece portrait of him and Bruce Vilanch with some joke bubbles over and under their heads.

Well, it looks like Bruce made his key strokes pucker and blew an e-kiss at James. Bruce wrote an e-mail to James saying that the Vulture dude buried his comments in the shade and watched as they grew into a cuntshroom. Basically, Bruce claims he didn't mean it like that.

James took Bruce's e-mail and ejaculated out his apology using the last drops in his MS Paint tubes. It's love again!

And I'm not calling James Franco's artistic merits into question, but if he insists on using MS Paint, can he please stop using red and pank together! It's destroying me. The only time red and pank belong together is when one is a lip liner and the other is frosted lip gloss. That's it.

via HuffPo

Pete "Dreamboat" Doherty took a well-deserved break from shooting the movie "Confession D'Un Enfant Du Siecle" in Paris, France to spend time with his forever soulmate, a beautiful and delicious glass of sweet nectar. Have you ever seen a love so pure and true before? You can almost see a heart frame of foamy hearts around them. Aphrodite is like, "This is what I've been going on about!"

The two were in their own private world as Dreamy's new love whispered sweet nothings into his ear after he gently kissed it on the lips. Dreamy's hair fleas were so touched that they played Für Elise on each other's legs.

You know something is really in real love with you when it starts foaming at the mouth. Or maybe that glass of beer caught rabies from Dreamy.

In the picture above, Tiny is most likely giving T.I. a side of handjob with his soup. And this is exactly the kind of behavior that earned him a case of Smurf balls and a trip to a "Special Housing Unit." T.I. is currently serving time in Arkansas for violating his probation and he got into more trouble over the weekend with some prude ass prison guards for violating decency by letting his wife Tiny yank on his Shake Weight.

TMZ says that the prison rules state that inmates are only allowed to kiss, hug and hold hands with their loved ones during visiting hours. The visiting room staff must be able to see hands at all times, so finger creeping down into the bush is strictly prohibited. T.I. tried to jizz all over those rules, but a security guard caught him before he could finish. Prison officials punished his ass by sending him to a part of the prison where there's more security and less freedom for inmates.

Don't security guards have bigger things to worry about than Babe's cousin sticking to her vows by hand fucking her husband in the visiting room of a prison?! Damn. It's not like Tiny was wiping her ass juices off of T.I.'s peen after doing anal with him on the picnic table in front of everyone! It was just a measly hj. Besides, a handjob is a form of hugging! That technicality should get T.I. off...in more ways than one.

Well, it's been another fuckery-filled year of eyebrow situations good and bad, exquisite lucite heels, cutlets of all types, I CANTS, ho shit, panty cream of various textures, bruised eardrums, scorched retinas, battered souls, ROJO!!!, Zahara side-eyes, ailing Aretha chichis, death threats from Beliebers, and restraining order renewals from both Mah Boo and Prince Hot Ginge. And now we'll stuff all of that into the tiny cardboard file box in our heads marked 2010.

You know, we'll probably forget all about it when we wake up from our debauchery-induced coma on the first morning of 2011! And by "debauchery" I mean lying on someone's couch with a bottle of whiskey I got for Christmas and a box of FINE GOURMET chocolates imported from California (aka fucking See's Candies). I can't wait!

And this is where I'm supposed to talk about my New Year's resolutions, but I really only have one. In 2011, I'm going to try lift up the toilet seat more because I really don't need my super to look up at me again while fixing it and tell me that I'm a messy pee-er. Actually, now that I think about it that was one of my favorite moments from 2010, so my one resolution should really be to be an even MESSIER pee-er in 2011. On that note...

I leave you with these pictures of Snooki looking like a shaved hamster in a ball at the Jersey Shore last night. The only good that can come of this is if they launch her into a portal in the sky where she'll be transported back to the Jurassic age and be reunited with her soulmate Holly.

Happy New Year, everybody! Thanks for dealing with my shit every single day.