It's Not Easy Being A Cunt
In their ongoing battle to see who can be the biggest cunt in all the land, Madge has just jumped a million spaces ahead of Elton John with one little quote to Newsweek about her ticket prices. If you've ever complained about paying $300 to see Madge rub the dick muscle on her armpit (that is a dick growing out of her armpit, right?) against an 18-year-old backup dancer, then shut your mouth. Start saving your coins by only eating tap water and ketchup packets for the next ten months, because she's worth it. Newsweek asked Madge what she thinks about her fans complaining that her ticket prices cost more than some people's monthly car payment and the cunt angels sang her name when she said this:
“So start saving your pennies now. People spend $300 on crazy things all the time, things like handbags. So work all year, scrape the money together, and come to my show. I’m worth it.”
HAHAHAHAHAHA. I love that even IN THIS ECONOMY, Madge is still a solid gold bitch to the 99%. But she does bring up a good point. Would you rather spend $300 on a leather bag you get to keep forever or do you want to spend $300 on watching a plastic bag thrust around a stage for 90 minutes. That's like a Sophie's Choice between a kitten and a Kardashian. But keep hustlin', Madge.
And here's Madge at a Super Bowl press conference today. If you're going to watch her halftime show, don't be surprised if a $300 charge shows up on your cable bill with the note: "I'm worth it. xo Madge".
This is what old British cunt queen Elton John said on the GGs red carpet last night about going up against his arch rival Madge in the Best Song category: "Madonna hasn't got a fucking chance."
This is what happened a couple of hours later when the winner of Best Song was announced:
The OTHER old British cunt queen won and the look on Elton John's face was a thing of bitter beauty. It's like Elton inhaled the British queef (yes, she queefs with a British accent) Madge let out to make room for her bloated ego as she went on stage to gloat about beating him. Madge dropped a vagina fart on Elton's words and forced him to eat it. Elton wanted to strangle the smug fake Britishness out of Madge's tongue the same way her dress was strangling her chichis.
And Elton's mad face slowly got even more mad as Madge beat the Guinness World Record for saying the word ME approximately 45 million times in the span of 45 seconds. It was the highlight of the night for me, because I love it when old cunts fight. But it didn't stop there. Later last night, as Elton rage ate through a turkey drumstick that his chef sculpted to look like Madge (completed with charred turkey gristle arms), his husband David Furnish spewed more bitter bitchiness on Facebook:
"Madonna. Best song???? Fuck off!!! Madonna winning Best Original Song truly shows how these awards have nothing to do with merit. Her acceptance speech was embarrassing in it's narcissism. And her critisism of Gaga shows how desperate she really is."
This feud is almost better than watching your abuelita on your mother's side and your grandma on your father's side fight over the last piece of cake in a cup at your birthday party. You know, as much as I'd love to watch Madge and Elton slap each other in the face with pristine white gloves, I'm going to need Queen Elizabeth to hit both of them with her pocketbook to show these not knowing hos who the real QUEEN is. If Queen Elizabeth isn't available, then Quween on the Scene can step in for her.
Everyone who was backstage at the Coldplay concert in Abu Dhabi on New Year's Eve found out the painful way what it's like to witness a conversation between a tequila worm on meth and a pinched anus when Fishsticks Paltrow dropped some GOOP into Courtney Love's ear. I don't know why Courtney was in Abu Dhabi (Trying to sell herself at clearance prices to a sheik"), but she was there and somehow got backstage at the Coldplay show. Courtney's cheek found its way to GOOPY's cheek and as her system tried to fight off the "pretentious cunt" syndrome seeping into her face pores, she posted this on her Twitter:
Courtney Courtney Love Cobain
getting the best advise for the new years from a true friend, love you @GwynethPaltrow @Goop
What kind of advice could GOOPY give Courtney? Gently roll all your crack rocks in crushed lemon seeds before you smoke them? If you're going to write a threatening letter to your estranged daughter, do it on persimmon-scented papier from GOOPY's favorite stationary store located in the attic of a diamond museum on the outskirts of Paris.
And by the looks of that picture, the wrong ho is the one giving the advice. One of them looks like she only survives on eating nicotine patches and hasn't slept in weeks because the voices of her enemies keep her up at night. And I'm not talking about Courtney, for a change.
I mean, Fishsticks looks like hell. She looks like Kurt Cobain TODAY, which is probably why Courtney wanted a picture with her in the first place.
You know, I threw lumps of cold shit at that Rooney Mara (from that Girl with the Double Dragon Tattoo shit) trick when she hocked a crusty loogie of ungratefulness at Christopher Meloni's nipples by saying that she doesn't get why hos are obsessed with Law & Order: SVU, but I'm actually starting to like her. I mean, a self-righteous twat of a bitch who has no filter on her thoughts and doesn't seem to care that she's coming off as a crystal clear cunt? MY KIND! Rooney might have been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but she has knocked that silver spoon out with the verbal streams of bitchery that jump off of her tongue and hit her old employers right in their faces. Case in point: During an interview with Entertainment Weekly (via DS), Rooney squatted on the Nightmare on Elm Street remake she starred in and pushed this out:
"You kind of learn to self-sabotage with things you don't want to get. Sometimes you don't want to get something but you do a really good job and you get in anyway. That's kind of [what happened] with A Nightmare on Elm Street - I didn't even really want it. And then I went in [to audition] and I was like, [whispering] 'Fuck. I definitely got that'."
Megan Fox, please pack up all your shit and head for the door marked EXIT, because your services as the premiere shit talker of Hollywood are no longer needed. I do know what Rooney is saying, though. Like when I was 16, I applied for a job as a fucking bus boy at Disneyland, because: a) most of the bussers were really hot; and b) I needed money to buy a fake ID so I could dance in a tank top at 18+ gay clubs with my older friends. And when the bitch at human resources asked me if I knew how to use a broom and a dustpan, I knew that I nailed that interview (only it wasn't really an interview... It was just some bitch asking me if I knew how to sweep.... seriously). So, see. Rooney and I are totally the same. We take jobs we don't really want and then we talk shit about them later in life. Although, the closest Rooney has ever come to operating a broom is adjusting the stick that is permanently shoved up her overprivileged ass.
And I heard somewhere that when Rooney signed up for the first Nightmare on Elm Street, she had to sign up for the sequel too. So even though the remake was as entertaining as slowly ripping a scab off your taint, I really hope they make a sequel so we can watch Freddy filet his own throat to escape Rooney rolling her eyes in different languages. Yes, Rooney's eye rolls need subtitles. Bitch is THAT above you.
Kate Winslet is currently screaming "I'm the Queen of the woooooorld" while spinning on the crotch of Richard Branson's nephew Ned RocknRoll, but before she was doing that she was rubbing her shit all over British hot piece Louis Dowler. The uretha in Louis' heart (yes, we have urethra in our hearts, ask your doctor) was ejaculating hearts over Kate Winslet, but apparently she wasn't feeling the same. When they went on what was supposed to be a romantic holiday trip to Richard Branson's Necker Island, not only did a fire kill one of the villas, but Kate and Louis' relationship also died a quick death that weekend. Kate met that RocknRoll bitch and she quickly dropped Louis on his hot, succulent ass. It's been three months since Kate quit Louis for RocknRoll and he tells the Daily Mail that he's still crying out tears onto his pecs and slathering the wetness all over his nipples (yes, I'm sure that's what he does):
"I don’t think Kate behaved well and it is still very raw for me. I was in love with her and you can’t switch that off overnight. I’m not sure Kate treated me well. Kate came home with me to Cornwall and we just hung out together. She met my parents and family. I thought we were inseparable. I certainly haven’t found anyone else since. I don’t want to go into details but it wasn’t a straightforward break-up. I’m a laid-back guy, so I am not walking around with a long face — but I do still hold a torch for her."
Who knew that Kate Winslet is a heartless, man-eating, shameless heart-stomping cunt slut? I think I love her now! But before I join the Kate Winslet Is A Man-Eating SCRAG BITCH fan club, I should help Louis during this difficult time. I'll put on a Kate Winslet mask, strap two pizza dough mounds to my chicken chest and let him get some closure on....my no-no. It's the human thing to do.
Seen here working the shit out of your nana's favorite pair of Ann Taylor sunglasses in Beverly Hills yesterday, the deep fried gizzard in a beanie that is Mickey Rourke talked to Modern Man about his role in that Immortals shit and the gems just kept slipping out between his roasted salchicha lips. Mickey, who has verbally kicked some of his co-stars in the b-hole before, called most actress "cunts" and then told a very touching story about how his grandmother used to read him a fable bout the mythological figure King Cock (that's how I'm taking that quote). Open your eyes wide like you do when you stare at Mickey's bag of prune balls bulge and take in all of these quotes:
You visited a Russian prison to prepare for your role in Iron Man 2. How did you prepare to play an ancient Greek Titan king for Immortals?
I showed up. The director spent three years working on the overall look of the film and that really helped. They paid me a lot of money for a few days of work so I was happy to go. It’s just a shame I didn’t get to work with the hot blond chick, Isabel Lucas. I also loved Frieda Pinto, but she has a boyfriend. She’s a really nice person and I have great respect for her as an actress — and I think most actresses are cunts with a capital K.
So … you had fun on the film?
I am just grateful for any role I have — every day I say, “God, let me not be late for work, so I’m not out of work another 13 years.” When you are out of work that long, your whole life changes; it’s a humiliating, shameful experience. I don’t know if you ever get over it. Hopefully, I can keep my mouth shut because I don’t want to go back to that lonely, dark place. This fucking town is built on envy. They can’t wait to [he raises his middle finger] to your ass.
Is there a story in Greek mythology that you especially like?
Did you ever see Johnny FuckHerFaster? It’s a mythology porno about a king named King Cock. I’m kidding. My grandmother used to read me a lot of that stuff to put me to sleep. I have always had insomnia and I loved all the different stories she read.
You can come across both as very sensitive and easygoing and as tough and a little scary. What’s the truth?
You’ll have to ask my doctor. I can’t answer that.
Well, you definitely have a soft spot for dogs.
Yeah, I miss my dog, Loki, who died after 18 years. The other night, my trainer was eating rack of lamb, and it reminded me how I used to put a piece of lamb in my pocket for her. I have four other dogs, but she was my love.
If only male prison plays paid good money, Mickey would be in a new kind of heaven since he wouldn't have to work with any actresses and he'd get to do all of his kissing scenes with his big ass cellmate wearing a wig made out of a shredded orange jumpsuit. IF ONLY! You know, Mickey is a scabby ass lip that always secretes toxic smegma and working with him is probably about as easy as trying to make out with an alligator snapping turtle, but he's still the piece of lamb to my Loki.
And who does the "K" stand for? Katherine Heigl? Obviously.
The New York Daily News (via THR) planned to do a picture spread featuring non-models wearing some of the hideous tacky shit from Versace's collection for H&M, but that idea was crushed into fine powder and snorted up by Donatella Versace after she refused to let size 6 fatties represent the Versace brand. That's right. If you want to be photographed wearing a skirt that looks like it was made from the curtains of a HoJo's in Boca, your body better be thinner than my will to live when I stare at Donatella's Shroud of Turd face for too long.
The NYDN says that when they presented the idea of showing off the collection on the size 0 to 6 bodies of New York types, H&M told them to hold that thought, because they had to get Versace's permission first. H&M didn't think Donatella would approve it since she's made it clear that she doesn't want "real women" modeling the collection. The NYDN sent H&M pictures of the women they wanted to use. H&M was right, because Donatella declared that all but one of the women didn't fit "Versace's branding."
You'd think that Donatella would bend her cunt rules a bit since: 1) Her daughter Allegra has suffered from anorexia for years; and 2) Ugly hos, fat hos, skinny hos, pretty hos and all of the other kinds of hos shop at H&M. But Donatella has a reputation as a nightmare-hearted cretin to uphold.
If Donatella let non-skinny people with non-alien faces wear Verace in a photo shoot, Kunty Karl would banish her from the Death Eaters' lair forever. Then Donatella would be so upset that she'd eat actual food instead of human souls and she'd eventually turn into a normal person whose heart beats and who thinks reasonable thoughts. We don't want this! Cunts like Donatella make our world go round.
Oh, and is Donatella wearing brown lip liner in that picture or did the person who anal bleaches her mouth miss a spot? If it's brown lip liner, ten glamour points for Donatella. If it's her anal bleachers' fault, KILL HIM!
Some have already accused Nicki Minaj of felony grand theft for stealing Lil' Kim's "Candyland's Princess Lolly as a raver hooker" look and now I'm accusing her of Xerox copying Foxy Brown's self-entitled cunt gene. Nick showed her true cunt colors last month when she overreacted by firing and bitching out her housekeeper for asking for an autograph. Star Magazine (via Radar) says that Nicki followed up that act of assholery at her facialist's salon recently. Nicki's former face torturer tells Star that Onika Tanya Maraj's Fraggle Rock wig hit the ceiling and the bitch farted out a smoke tunnel of hot rage after getting her eyebrows waxed. Nicki's facialist Dawn DaLuise put it like this (note: for an extra tingle, picture Dom DeLuise as Dawn):
"After I waxed her eyebrows and lip, she started screaming ‘Who the fuck do you think you are? Look what you did to my damn face! You think this shit is worth 170 dollars?'
It’s a shame when you see a darling girl turn into a temperamental diva."
"Look at what you did to my damn face" are words Nicki should reserve for the plastic surgeon who sliced her beak up. In Nicki's defense, murder is wrong, but murdering a bitch who fucks up your eyebrow situation is not since it's self defense. You fuck with my brows, you fuck with my life. In Dawn's defense, it's really not possible for her to fuck up Nicki's face more than it already is (well, Nicki set up the joke), so Onika needs to simmer down. Say the words with me, Nicki: FOXY BROWN'S CURRENT CAREER (OR LACK THEREOF).
Oh, and my response to that picture from the VS fashion show of Nicki squatting is: Pete Burns did the catwalk bowel movement better.
The only Whitney who should have her own show on NBC was up to her old bitch diva theatrics yesterday afternoon when she refused to fasten her seatbelt before taking off on a Delta flight out of Atlanta. You would think that the seatbelt was paper mache'ed with the receipts from her old crack dealers, because Whitney wasn't interested in laying one of her fingers on it.
TMZ reports that you can add the phrase "Buckle up, Miss Houston" to the long list of lines that turn on Whitney Houston's cunt switch. A source says that Whitney was sitting in her seat when a flight attendant asked her to put the top boy part into the bottom boy part, but she was not interested and ignored the request. Now, if one of us refused to buckle, we would've been tased in the mouth, kicked off to Guantanamo Bay and they'd still make us pay the $50 fee for checking in our luggage. But not Whitney. A second crew member approached Dionne's cousin and told her that if she didn't strap in she'd have to shoop shoop off the damn plane.
So Whitney had a choice: get kicked off the plane or buckle her seatbelt. Whitney took what was behind door number DIVA and allowed the flight attendant to fasten her seatbelt for her.
A source claims that Whitney is every type of sober and her nerves were just a little splintery from missing her original flight.
You have to be a brave bitch with some still hands to come at Whitney. Imagine having to buckle her in. It would be like trying to wrap a baby bib around a great white shark. It would've been a lot easier if the flight attendant told Whitney that as soon as she fastens her shit, the buckle will press against her belly and all her doody bubbles would pop out right away. Who needs Bobby B Bobby B?
In this week's edition of GOOP (Grossly Ostentatious Oogly Pretentiousness), Fishsticks Paltrow conducts an overly thorough, in-depth Cuntline NBC investigation on her harrowing journey from Paris, France to London to Los Angeles for the Emmys. Fishy's Emmys scrapbook should really be titled Two Days In The Life Of A Working Mother, because like every working mother Fishy traveled in First Class and stayed in a 12-star hotel suite while her team of nannies tried to keep the scent of "North America" off her children by rolling them in organic baby powder and dried orchid leaves in a room next door.
You know, Fishy writes that she took a commercial flight to L.A., but do we really believe that she breathed in coach mist for that many hours? Bitch is lying. While in France, Fishy made two of her Russian maids pull her head out of her ass which made all the bullshit she stores up hit the ground so hard that it tossed her across an ocean and a country. Fishy finally landed in an empty pool of Neil Lane jewels in L.A. That's how she really travels.
Fishy does make an Over the Moon violation (and uses the word "CHUFFED" in the same paragraph) in this ode to a working mother, but I've got bigger fish(sticks) to fry. Like how she came upon a disgusting sight that forced her to snap her fingers at her personal valet and bark at him to reupholster her seat in shark leather.
It’s a minute to show time, and I find my seat in the second row (right behind the cast of 30 Rock!) The seat filler before me was sweaty … so my chair was wet. Gross!
The 63rd Primetime Emmy Awards begin, hosted by Jane Lynch from Glee!
I live for Tina Fey and I love Kenneth from 30 Rock! Wait ... why does my arm look like that and since when do I have 9 chins?
That's not 9 chins. That's your jaw cringing and weeping at being an accomplice to the stupid fucking shit that comes out of your mouth, you dumb dick hole.
But back to the seat filler thing. Is that a direct insult to the Emmy's premiere seat filler Chicken Cutlets? Phoebe Price doesn't sweat. She can't. She had all of her sweat glands removed, because they threw off her balance and made it hard for her to pose in front of a camera for 12 hours straight on Robertson Blvd. But I'm sure who ever sweat like a human all over Fishy's seat will have each of their skin pores plugged up so this never happens again.
And it might not have been PP who completely ruined Fishy's seat, but it was definitely the other kind of PP if you know what I mean. If you're sitting on Fishy's seat, it is your duty to piss all over it.