Drunkblogging

Apologies in advance to all the beautiful gays out there, but according to a new book Nixon's Darkest Secrets: The Inside Story of America's Most Troubled President by ex White House Correspondant Don Fulsum, President Richard Nixon was one of you. I know, I know, but hey, we all have our embarrassments. Like Andy Dick for the bisexuals and Charlie Sheen for the str8s. His married eye apparently strayed for Charles "Bebe" Rebozo, a banker from Key Biscanye Florida with reported mob ties. Read all about it on Huffington Post, where they spill details like Richard was a homophobe in public, beat his wife constantly, and was referred to as "our drunk" by his staff. A politician who publicly beats the gays down while swinging on a stripper pole in heels and lingerie in the safety of his closet? Unheard of.

I am not really offended at the thought of a US president having a gay affair. They are, after all, notorious sluts. *cough*BillClintonCallMe*cough* I'm more offended that they dared to both be ugly, and make me think about their sexy times. That is the most scandalous part of this story to me. Please, keep your tighty-whitey sharey times to yourselves. And yes, Richard Nixon just stepped up a little in my eyes. Watergate? Boring. Whatareyoudoingwithmydickinyourassgate? Now we're getting somewhere. "I am not a crook!" has been replaced with "I am not a crooked dick!" Bravo, Mr. President.

SO. Even Miss Cleo saw this coming. TMZ reports that Maria Shriver has officially filed for divorce papers against AHNOLT. Details are that Maria is citing irreconcilable differences (pretty nice of her, I think), there is no pre-nup, and she wants custody of the two minor children they have together, 17 year old Patrick Arnold Shriver Shwarzenneger and 13 year old Christopher Sargent Shriver Shwarzenneger. No word yet on who gets custody of Arnold Shwarzenneger's leventy-billion other children.

Ahnolt will not be back this time. You go Maria, get that 50 percent from that last 13 years. I hope the state of California paid Arnold first with their broke ass.

In totally unrelated yet so related quit-this-bitch news, it's been quite a ride. I wanna say how grateful I am that so many of you piled into my 1995 Ford Escort while Michael K's Bentley was parked at Times Square (okay they totally took the subway but work with me people). Whether my posts made you giggle or groan longingly for MK, I'm proud to have been given this opportunity to help out the hardest working ho on the blog stroll in his hour of need. Michael, it was such an honor to walk a mile in your stilettos and be the tofurkey to your delicious surf and turf, you brilliant slut. *bows deeply*

That being said, THANK GOD MK IS BACK and I can go back to busting celeb balls (without a condom, as is the custom in HoWood) in the relative anonymity of the threads!!! Watch for my upcoming book "In Love With A Gay Man: The Life And Times Of Sweetas". Till then, I'll see you all in the comments section.

Much love (you know where), Sweetas

I finally made it to Texas after a million delays and unfortunately I didn't score any street meth like I hoped I would. But some drunken trick in torn jean coochie cutters and a midriff outside of my hotel told me I looked like a "white Bruno Mars" so that was pretty much the only mind altering fuckery I needed this morning. And on to more mind altering fuckery, below is my liveblog of the Royal Wedding Spectacular Extravaganzzzzzz(emphases on the "zzzz")a with The Morton Report. I can't promise that I won't pass out in a puddle of my own slobber and start morningdreaming about skipping through my own saliva pools with Prince Hot Ginge and that wedding cake-wearing puppy. Actually, that sounds better.

But I'll try my best to NOT do that. My own royal wedding drinking game should help with that. Every time The Queen starts open mouth snoring or PHG throws a "Where is the open bar?" look, I'll take a shot of the complimentary facial cleanser in the bathroom (there's no suitable booze in this joint). Now on to this mess (my ass is watching NBC, by the way)!

That Oscar statue is not doing a good job of hiding the intense jealousy and contempt he feels towards Valentino. Oscar spends several painful minutes getting dipped in piping hot liquid gold and Valentino's pores just naturally secrete precious metals on their own. Stay jealous, OSCAR! So, it is that time of year when we all spend the next 3 hours (give or take, 100 hours) watching beaded and diamond-encrusted hos read from a teleprompter and thank whoever for making this LIFE CHANGING MOMENT happen...blah..blah.

You know, next year, they should all get in their fancy clothes, sit in their fancy seats and then watch a giant screen in front of them that shows us getting WASTED while watching them. We'd all have a better time, I'm sure. Speaking of slurring like the king before Best Actor is announced, I was going to come up with a drinking game for tonight but let's be real... The true drinking game is boozing until your liquor cabinet yells CUT or until the bartender puts a cup of Sanka in front of you.

For the next 56 million hours, I'll be live Twatting this bitch. You can follow me over there or on the little widget thing below. Or you can do neither and go to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts to watch the homeless drunks fall asleep in their booths (take me with you). If you do the latter, make sure you kick at me at the end of the night to make sure I haven't overdosed on Natalie Portman's laugh or James Franco's artistry.

If I survive tonight, there will be a complete rundown tomorrow. We're off!

Thanks to the sweet nectar I'm already winking and smiling like Mickey Rooney next to a pair of young chichis. So if you don't have drunk spots on your forehead yet, DRINK UP because it's going to be a long ass night. Get your drinkin' wig, the drunk liveblog is below:

Grab the Boone's Farm and fill up your bong, because it's once again time for the Golden Globe Awards. And just like every year, we're all in this together! When you start to reach for the noose because you just can't take it anymore, I'll pull your head back and drop Jagerbomb in your mouth! Because that's what I'm here for. Although, I can't promise that my TV won't "accidentally" switch to HSN halfway through which will force me to start liveblogging that instead.

My only hope for tonight is that if Carey Mulligan is announced as the winner for Best Actress, Mimi Carey's drunk ass hears her name instead and stumbles on stage to accept the award. Close your eyes, kiss a bottle of Andre and make a wish that this happen.

The drunkblog is beeeelow. It starts at 8pm EST (Escandalo Slut Time):

Can you believe the decade is already over? It seems like it was just yesterday that we were all boozing, bonging and blowjobbing in 2000. And now we're going to be boozing, bonging and blowjobbing in 2010! CRAZY! Time flies when you're a drunken whore.

Anyway, I want to wish all of you a very Happy New Year! And if you've already banged in the new year, I want to wish you good luck, because I'm sure your drunk ass is doing one of the following right now: a) trying to protect your asshole in jail b) trying to break into your local free clinic to get a hold of a morning-after pill or c) trying to find a church that is still open so that you can cleanse your sin-covered skin in a bowl of holy water.

And I also want to thank you for joining me during this year full of fuckery. When I dry heaved, you dry heaved right next to me. When I slapped my nipples and pinched my taint, you slapped your nipples and pinched your taint right next to me. When I worshiped at the feet of Chicken Cutlets, you logged off and called Bellevue. We did it together. And hopefully, we'll do it all over again next year.

Speaking of Chicken Cutlets, here she is to wish all of you a frecklelicious 2010! Now log off and call Bellevue. I'll be waiting with a Straitjacket Snuggie on. Happy New Year!

My kitchen smells like burnt bread and that "Thank You India" song by Alanis Morrissette is playing on repeat in my head, so that must mean it's Thanksgiving times! Or as my mom says after she's had a few glasses of Andre, Tanksgiven! For those of you who don't celebrate it, Happy Booze Until You Barf Out All Your Internal Organs Day (aka every single day of the week)!

And there really is a lot I'm thankful for this year. A zillion things like silver, foxes, mothers, frosting, the circus, animals, cookies, Sharpies, lucite, heels, ginges, abuelitas, keyboards, cats, moons, chicken, cutlets and of course, all of you hos who continue to read my mostly incoherent crazy rants and put up with my annoying obsessions with everything I just listed. So, tank you. Oh, and in case you didn't figure it out, that last picture is an artist's rendering of you.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

If your tongue will not be permanently attached to the TV screen for the True Blood season finale tonight, then grab a bong, bottle or both and suffer with me through the MTV VDAs. Hopefully, Courtney Love woke up from her daily coma and will attack everyone with a compact. EVERYONE. The drunkbonging fun starts at 9pm EST in the magical window below: