Why Are You Doing This To Us?

Chris Brown tells MTV's This Is How I Made It (via UsWeekly) that a lot of people see him as the throbbing asshole boil that he truly is and he knows they might always think that, but he doesn't care, because he knows deep within the mound of Lucifer shit in his chest that he's doing what he can to be a better person.

"Having to get personal opinion back and having to gain personal success back. . . it's not all the way back, you know? But it's one of my most humbling experiences. I can't hate people for making judgment on me or making a decision of liking me or not liking me. All I can do is try to be better as a person, and I'm good with knowing everything isn't always going to be perfect."

No, Chris won't hate you if you think he's trash. He'll just break a bottle over your head, punch you in the face and call you a faggot. That's all. Let's see, Chris has thrown a chair through a window at Good Morning America, got into a fight with Wheelchair Jimmy, stole a girl's iPhone, dressed up like a terrorist for Halloween and rage whined on Twitter about everything. Yup, he's definitely showing us that he's a better person and he's not a rage-filled monster who needs to have a seat on Oprah's favorite frozen dildo. Keep up the good work, Fist!

Most of us haven't been able to fully enjoy a double glazed donut after reading story after story about how John Travolta's slobbery dough hole tried to gobble up any and ever man finger that came near it. And now here's something that might keep you off of Chick-O-Sticks for a while.

Papa Joe Simpson hasn't officially "come out" (and he doesn't need to when he's walking around in outfits like this), but The National Enquirer is still pouring all of his (alleged) secrets out on the internet. Bryce Chandler Hill apparently wasn't the only pretty-faced twink that Papa Joe was rolling around naked with. A high-priced escort named Joey Anderson (Side note: Click here for his Daddy Reviews page and yes, I just spent 20 minutes of my time looking for a review that read, "And he even complimented me on the highlights in my pubes!") ran off to the Enquirer to tell them about the night in May when Papa Joe paid him $600 for a little quality time at the Mandarin Oriental in NYC. Because a getting a cashiers check from The National Enquirer is more important than not breaking the ho code, Joey Anderson told all:

"Over the course of two hours or so, we rolled around, kissed and gave each other oral. We'd take breathers and then start up all over again. He seemed to have an insatiable appetite for sex and never really appeared tired. I didn’t let on that I knew his real identity, and he never mentioned anything about Jessica or his family. I’ve been with a lot of men in my life, and by Joe’s actions that night, he’s gay.

Whatever the case, I'm probably not the only one. After being a family man, and a religious one to boot, for all these years, I'm sure he's out sowing his wild oats with a bunch of boys. Joe has lived a lifetime of deceit regarding his sexuality. Before the dust settles, I wouldn't be surprised to hear about a lot more guys coming forward."

In other Sugar Daddy Joe news, Radar says that Tina Simpson found out that her husband was gargling on twink peen when she found modeling pictures of Bryce in her house and later pried a confession out of Joe in the lobby of his NYC hotel. Tina also knew that something in the milk was twink cream when she noticed that hundreds of thousands of dollars went missing from her checking account. The source says Papa Joe pulled that money out to make it rain fancy gifts on Bryce.

Papa Joe really does have a type. If your body is empty of hair, you smell like strawberry lip gloss and you've got a premium flippin' mane, then Papa Joe wants you. Some of you have already been through enough this week, so instead of picturing Joey's luscious unicorn mane falling all over Pastor Joe's gut as they get into some beej time fun, just picture them reading scriptures to each other in that hotel room. Actually, don't, because the latter image is more terrifying.

Gina B (not to be confused with Gina G) the nanny who used to work for OctoMom and said that she gets drunk on vodka and cranberry juice all the time, is spilling more secrets and this one I didn't need to know. I'm passing it on to you, because we will suffer and scrub the sucio images out of our brain with a rusty Chore Boy together!

OctoMom said a couple of months ago that the older members of her child army sort of know that the food she put on their table came from her tickling her twat on camera. Well if Gina is telling the truth, then at least one of Octo's mom kids not only knows about the video, he's seen it with his own eyes. ("So that's why he always runs away screaming from the cafeteria when it's open-faced meat lasagna day" said OctoMom's son's teacher.)

TMZ says that back in June, Gina ratted out Octo to Child Protective Services after finding out that the 11-year-old OctoKid was watching porn on his phone and it wasn't just any porn, it was his mom's porn. Octo somehow found out that her 11-year-old son was watching her scratch cat in her debut porn movie and asked Gina to block the site from his phone. Gina couldn't block the site from his phone, because Octo wouldn't give her the password to it. Octo apparently handled the situation herself by telling her son to stay away from porn.

Walking in on your parents doing stuff that you never want to see them doing is scarring enough, so I can only image the emotional scars that are left on your soul when you watch a video of your mom doing that to herself. That 11-year-old kid just won a free pass to do whatever the hell he wants.

Cop: So, I pulled you over, because there's five bloody limbs hanging out of your trunk, you were driving 150 mph in a stolen car, you mowed down a litter of kittens, your backseat is filled with weed you stole from a medical marijuana dispensary, you reek of a Lohan and worst of all, you're blasting a Carly Rae Jepsen song.

OctoKid: My mom is OctoMom and I watched her porn when I was 11.

Cop: Have a good night, sir. Drive safe. Do you need a police escort to the strip club?

And obviously, Octo should take away his phone and use the money to pay for daily, intensive hypnotherapy sessions.

On MahBoo 369me tonight, Anderson Cooper's beautiful, angelic face will be splattered with loads of salty liquid as he chases Hurricane Sandy on the Jersey Shore and my beat, demonic face will be covered in salty tears, because Telepictures has kicked my emotions right in the taint by canceling Anderson Live! And yet, Jeff Probst still breathes on daytime TV. This life ain't right.

The New York Times says that after its second season ends, Anderson Live will be cremated and its ashes will be turned into a diamond ring that the Silver Fox will wear on his pinky, so he'll never forget the days when he was a daytime talk show star. After the first season of Anderson's talk show delivered lukewarm ratings, they re-vamped it by bringing in co-hosts and changing the set. It didn't work. Anderson will stop making new shows this summer and there won't be a third season. The Silver Fox said this to the NY Times:

“I am very proud of the work that our terrific staff has put into launching and sustaining our show for two seasons, I am grateful to Telepictures for giving me the opportunity, and I am indebted to the audience, who have responded so positively. I look forward to doing more great shows this season, and I’m sorry we won’t be continuing, but I have truly enjoyed it.”

If the success of TV shows weren't measured by ratings, but were instead measured by how many hos fap to it, then Anderson Live would be the number one show in the country! Okay, the number one show in California! Okay, the number one show in Los Angeles! Okay, the number one show in my apartment! But in all seriousness, maybe this shit is for the best. I know Anderson is a serious journalist and wanted to bring us serious news like updates on Tan Mom, but when I watched him go spray tanning with that piece of wookie trash Snooki, it hurt me. I don't want to see my Silver Fox like that.

That is the only reasonable explanation I could come up with for why Meat Loaf caught, beat, skinned, cooked, ate, threw up, ate again, shat out and stomped on the song "America the Beautiful" at a Mitt Romney campaign event yesterday. John Rich, Big Kenny and Randy Owens all came out and sang normal, but then Meat Loaf opened his mouth and out came a flaming bag of drunk squirrels. The bat went back to Hell after listening to this mess. Meat Loaf broke it down like an evangelical preacher trying to scream the demon out of you. I kept waiting for Meat Loaf to put his palm against Romney's forehead. I rebuke this shit.

And can we just get to the part where Meat Loaf apologizes and checks into a treatment center for "exhaustion." First, Meat Loaf goes wild on America's sweetheart Gary Busey and then he kills "America the Beautiful." There's a chair in a mental hospital admitting office that's waiting for Meat Loaf.

If you've got nothing better to do, like steal a TV from a sports bar bathroom with your brother/fake hump partner or conduct a poll in your office on if you should dress as a slutty corn on the cob or a slutty honey badger for Whore-O-Ween, then spend the next 15+ minutes of your life watching awkward Kristen Stewart being awkward while awkwardly asking awkward questions from her fans about some stupid perfume.

KStew's crazy fans submitted over 5,000 questions about being the face of Balenciaga’s Florabotanica fragrance and Virginie Mouzat asked like 3 of those questions during a live Q&A yesterday. The Q&A was supposed to last 30 minutes, but it was cut short, because the camera dude had a nervous breakdown from watching KStew's restless leg syndrome, restless eye blinking syndrome and restless insufferable twat syndrome in action. If you hit the mute button, this is like watching a bizarre, uncomfortable and strangely elegant intervention between an exquisitely dressed drug counselor and a paint huffer.

If you can't sit through all five minutes of this highly exciting interview, then read Fashionista's highlights:

On being a spokesperson: “I don’t have to lie about liking [the fragrance].”

On other fragrances (she made this point many times–that Florabotanica doesn’t smell “fake and chemically”): They can make you “smell like an old lady and…like fake. I don’t get that from this.”

Her advice for a girl who desperately wants Florabotanica and who’s trying to convince her parents to get it for her: “Be good?”

On how it makes her feel: “Young and mature at the same time. When I wear it I feel older.”

On what movie it reminds her of (she hated this question. A lot.): “Nicolas says Alice in Wonderland.” Virginie: “But what do you think?” [pause] Kristen: “Sorry, but I’m intimidated by this question.”

On learning French: “It’s been a goal of mine, but I’ve been a little, uh, preoccupied.”

The hell are those questions? Why didn't Virginie ask KStew if Florabotanica can be used to cover the scent of the drool droppings your side piece left on your cooter box? Because that's a selling point.

Because the FBI has nothing better to do, TMZ is reporting that Hulk Hogan's lawyer got in touch with them to waaahwaaahwaaaah over the sadist who leaked his sex tape to the world. Believe me Hulk when I say you can't possibly be as devastated as those of us who have no self control when it comes to link-clicking and witnessed that horror.

Hulk wants the Feds to track down and prosecute the dirty bastard (we can at least all agree on that point) who showed the world his breathtaking secks moves that have Don Juan sitting at a bar in purgatory crying into his Mojito. TMZ says he tried to go to the Florida cops about it, but they were too busy tracking down face eating zombies, crazy jilted Depends wearing astronauts and Nick Hogan to deal with this mess. No, they said that since the tape was made in 2006, the statute of limitations - 4 years - had expired regarding the legality of taping someone without their permission, and that because the release crossed state lines it was a federal issue. And then they all pointed and laughed and said "Let me see if that's Nick, hold on." (ty I think Gawker)

Hulk (this is a grown ass man named Hulk, so hard to type with a straight face) is supposed to meet with FBI officials on Monday. Too bad he couldn't have met with them weeks ago before the tape went live, saving us all brain bleach, therapy and hive cream bills. I do agree though that the person who leaked that mess should be tracked down, drawn and quartered, dunked in rubbing alcohol and then burned. It's only fair.

Oh, grandma, cover your face, because this might be the worst thing to hit your eyeballs since you read the words "Matlock canceled!" in Readers Digest.

Like with most horrific thoughts that leave temporary oozing sores on my brain, I completely forgot that a Hulk Hogan sex tape made the rounds last March and that the crispy walrus tried to stop it from coming out. But an anonymous evil doer who is obviously working for the Illuminati sent the 30-minute long tape to Gawker and they didn't want anything in return. They just wanted Gawker to see it. Yeah, so that anonymous evil doer is like that friend who tells you to come out, because they want you to see this dead, mutilated pigeon that's been ran over so many times that it's practically part of the pavement. Thank you, friend! A.J. Daulerio from Gawker watched all 30 minutes of it, and after he woke up from a coma brought on by excessive fapping, he posted almost 2 minutes of the tape's greatest moments and then wrote in detail what goes down.

Last March, Hulk said that he sticks it in so many tricks that he doesn't know most of their names, so there's no way he can even guess who his fuck tape partner is. Gawker thinks his sex tape co-star is the wife of his best friend Bubba the Love Sponge (I'm CAN'T-ing about that name so you don't have to). Hulk claims that he was secretly taped and it's obvious he was, because the camera is set up like a surveillance camera in a bodega. It's black and white and the quality is shitty, but even through the graininess you can see Hulk's blinding white ass, which matches his blinding white Friar Tuck hair. Hulk is nothing but orange and white. Bitch is like an Orangesicle from hell.

The tape starts off with some mystery dude (maybe Bubba) telling Hulk and the chick that he's going to his office to let them do their thing. The two start to get into the grossness, but stop for a second when Hulk's phone rings and you probably already guessed this, but his ring tone is his daughter Brooke Hogan's song "About Us." Yeah, I'll wait here as you change your skin.

When I wrote about this mess in March, I guessed that Hulk's dick is so small that any woman's clit could pin it down in a wrestling match. But I was wrong. You only see a second of Hulk's jerky stick, but it looks like it's big enough for you to use as a club to knock yourself out so you can wake up not remembering any of this. Hulk's trick rides his charbroiled salchicha before he busts one and then they have a quick conversation about how Nick's girlfriend's sister wants to do him.

You can watch this mess and read the play-by-play at Gawker. Hulk says "thank you" at the end, which makes me thinks this is a prostitution whore situation. And Hulk's ho says "your big dick feels so good in my pussy" while she's riding him. Now if you turn to the chapter in the hooker whore handbook on dirty things to say when you're bored while riding dick, that line is definitely in there.  Also, Hulk's piece has brown hair. So much peroxide has seeped into Hulk's head that he probably cums pure bleach and no brunette is going to risk getting bleach stains on her pubes FOR FREE.

In about two weeks, I'll say goodbye to cursing at hos under my breath for walking so damn slow in front of me and I'll say hello to cursing at a ho in the car in front of me for actually stopping at a stop sign instead of doing the slow roll like normal drivers do. Since Amanda Bynes has moved to NYC, the streets of Los Angeles are a little bit safer (not really), so it's a good time for me to pick up my dog, bong and rubber dongs and move back for now. I'm mostly doing it because I've been here over 10 years and need a change, but I'm mostly doing it because I can't resist the lure of a weed card, In-N-Out and possibly witnessing Angelyne make copies of her headshot at Kinko's. So get out your gas masks, L.A., because here I come.

When I told one of my friends about this, he's like, "Ewwww, aren't you afraid you're going to lose your NYC edginess?!" First of all, why do I have a friend that says shit like "NYC edginess"? Second of all, whatever "NYC edginess" I have I got from watching HGTV all night while pouring potato chip crumbs from the bottom of a Lay's bag into my eating hole, so that's not going to change. Because when I'm in my 1-bedroom Studio City apartment (or whatever), I plan on spending my nights watching HGTV while pouring potato chip crumbs from the bottom of a Lay's bag into my eating hole.

But you know, maybe he's right about this whole "moving to California" thing not being a good idea. I mean, when I'm driving down the street am I going to come in contact with shiny happy people who sing love songs for their husband while riding a bike?! That would ruin my life and is possibly a deal breaker.

One California bride spent a whole lot of time and a whole lot of energy on declaring her love for her new husband in a YouTube video that Gawker says she pimped out to the Huffington Post. Here's the description of this vom-inducing declaration of love from YouTube:

"This surprise wedding music video was created for my husband Todd Evan Krieger in Venice Beach, California and unveiled for him at our wedding reception in Santa Fe, New Mexico."

We should all be so lucky as to find something we love as much as this, but DAMN! Shit like this makes me want to fuck a million husbands and ruin a million marriages. This is why home wreckers do what they do. Love is a helluva drug, especially because it makes you sing out shit like "macchiatos in the hood."

If I ever love something so much that it makes me sing shit like this on a YouTube video, please kidnap me, throw me in the trunk of your car, drive me to the airport and put me on the next flight going far, far away. Separate me and that thing I love by more than one ocean. It's for my own good.

A couple of days ago I posted the soul-murdering, vomit-inducing, diarrhea-bringing image of Jason "Gummi Bear" Davis leaving a hotel in L.A. with an open crusty sore on his foot that looked like the portal to hell. Since I'm on WebMD a lot, I diagnosed it as being a staph infection, but that's probably not what it is at all. Gummi Bear's foot sore looks like an exploding sun dried tomato pizza bagel, because he keeps injecting heroin into it. You should know that you don't have to go any further. You can turn around and go and look at a ginger kitten canoodling with chicks instead. That's an option, you know.

Radar has a lovely video from Tuesday night on their site of Gummi Bear bandaging his foot up after allegedly shooting heroin into a vein. There's blood all over the floor, because the vein couldn't take it anymore and quit life by popping. A source says that Gummi Bear, who was on the fourth season of Celebrity Rehab, is living in a sober house, but that doesn't stop him from chasing after the tip of a dragon's tail whenever he can. The emergency room has become a second home to Gummi Bear, because the diabetes he suffers from mixed with his heroin use regularly puts him in front of a doctor. One of Gummi Bear's friends said this about what happened after he shot heroin into his foot on Tuesday night:

"His foot is black and blue and it's disgusting. There was blood everywhere and Jason's so out of it and lazy that the blood stains are still all over his room and on the sheets. He hasn't cleaned any of it up. He begged his friends to take him because he didn't want to be taken in an ambulance. And this is how bad his addiction is; before they took him to the hospital he asked them if he could get him heroin! Obviously no one gave him heroin and after a few hours in the hospital he came back with a huge nasty crater in his foot. I really hope this guy gets help, because he is definitely not sober and he's causing chaos in that sober house."

So there you go, Gummi Bear's foot doesn't look like a prolapsed rectum because he has a staph infection. It looks that way, because he's shooting the liquid bad shit directly into it. I know, when it was a staph infection it made me go: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Now that I know it's a heroin sore, I'm still going: AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and stretch my leg, and find a way to bring my foot up to my mouth so I can kiss it and tell it that I'll never treat it like that. If I ever want to inject heroin, I'll just inject it into my taint. It's not like I need a taint anyway.