You Got Got

At last night's NYC premiere of the soon-to-be Razzie sweeper W.E., Madge told reporters that she was crossing her fingers and hoping that the academy would be so fearful of her wrath that they'd throw a bunch of nominations at her. Cut to this morning when she woke up in her coffin with a giant bouquet of hydrangeas on top and a note from the academy that read: Thanks, but no thanks. Okay, okay, technically W.E. was nominated for an Oscar (for Best Costume), so I guess the male members of the academy are still a little scared that Madge will crawl up into their beds at night, rip their nutsacks out with one bite and then replace the heads on the Oscar trophies with their gold-plated huevos.

For once, I can't really make fun of the shit that Madge wore to her premiere last night (or the shit she wore while escorting Baby Brahim to his nursery for bedtime). Bitch looks like the evil queen double fisting two tutu-wearing ballerinas. It's totally appropriate! Speaking of fisting, I also can't make fun of Madge's (DO NOT CLICK ON THAT NSFL LINK!!!) veiny testicle hands for once. I thought about it and if I was ever in the market for a silicone fist, I'd buy one modeled after Madge's hand. Four words: Veiny For Your Pleasure. I mean, John Travolta so wants to make sweet love to Madge's hand right now.

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.

When Elle Decor asks the high cuntess of pretension Fishsticks Paltrow about some of the things she can't live without, you know it's going to be good. Fishy finally gets to GOOP to a magazine that GOOPS her same language. It's like two ivory-gilded assholes gently rubbing together to make grandiose music that the ear drums of the poors can't hear.

Fishy basically lets us know that when the apocalypse begins next year, her shanty shack will have a galvanized bathing tub on its bunk and lanterns made of her servants' skin will line the shelf that holds all of her religious books (note: you know the only thing on that religion shelf is an autographed copy of her own cookbook).

Put on your YUBZ retro eyeglasses so you don't get GOOPiation and read all about the things Fishy cannot live without:

1. De Gournay Hand-Painted Wallpaper
I indulged with one wall in my London living room covered in a gorgeous pattern.

2. Seasonal Flowers
I like single-variety arrangements—peonies, hydrangeas, and white lilies—casually arranged.

3. Darren Almond’s Photography
His arresting, large-scale artwork brings a sense of majesty to a room.

4. Charles Edwards Star Lanterns
I hung three of these at different levels in the stair hall so that we could pass them on our way up to bed at night.

5. Antonio Lupi Baia Tub
It’s in the middle of my bedroom—perfect for a relaxing wind-down and for bathing the kids.

6. Juxtaposed: Religion Shelf
Built-in slots hold holy books—including the Qur’an, Bible, and Tao Te Ching—all at the same level (which is how I like to think about religion).

7. Clothbound Penguin Classics
These gorgeous editions make the books so tempting to pick up, again and again. The ultimate cure for sore muscles.

8. YUBZ Retro Handset
A handset cuts down on cellphone radiation. I use this one for my BlackBerry calls.

I know you can't wait to use the "brings a sense of majesty to a room" line when you're showing your guests the Thomas Kinkade blanket hanging on the wall over your Jennifer Convertible.

You know, I bet the bathtub in the bedroom was Chris Martin's idea. When Fishy's in bed, creaming at the gills about indulging in wallpaper, the tub in the bedroom makes it convenient for him to dunk his fat head into until the bubbly image of death fills his eyes.

But Fishy's tub in the bedroom ain't shit. Bitch needs to get a tub in the middle of her kitchen. You haven't lived until you've washed your taint with one hand while rotating your Hungry Man meal in the microwave with the other. That's true practical luxuriousness!

While the malnourished luckdragon of Mississippi partied with Eddie Cibrian at Chicago's Lollapalooza this past weekend, she showed everyone (read: the photographer's camera) a fake tattoo she got on the side of her carcass. The temporary tattoo is of her wedding vows and was made using the dark tears her stomach spits out because it's HONGRAY. LeAnn's tattoo says this:

"You gave me the courage to be truthful. I promise to give you the comfort to be trustful."

Can a tattoo cross itself, because that one totally is. That really is the eye roll of tattoos. I can get "I Want A Hot Clit In My Mouth" inked into my body, but that doesn't mean the tattoo is going to compel me to follow through with it. (And now I suddenly want "I Want A Hot Clit In My Mouth" tattooed on my lips.)

LeAnn then went on Twitter and tried to act like she was shocked that the media is talking about a fake tattoo she got so that the media can talk about it.

Too funny! I got a stencil not a tattoo! Its not "news"... however, I can't get it off. In search if rubbing alcohol I think!

That is too funny. "I can't get it off. In search of rubbing alcohol" is the exact line Eddie Cibrian is going to huff out when his side whore tells him she's uncomfortable with him finger banging her with his wedding ring on. No! Eddie Cibrian isn't that stupid. He's a seasoned cheater now. He only wears a clip-on wedding ring.

Lorenzo Lamas kept holy matrimony spinning in its grave over the weekend when he made 24-year-old Shawna Craig his 5th wife and future ex-wife in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Like every thing that penetrates through the lucite bubble that covers Shauna Sand, the name "Lamas" does not want to leave her and will stay on as her legal last name. The constitution (and the laws of the gods) CLEARLY state that there can only be one Shauna Lamas existing in the 50, so this Shawna Craig trick has to keep her last name! BUT WAIT! A different idea has slithered into one of the pockmark's on Lorenzo's face and crawled up into his brain. Lorenzo will take Shawna's last name instead. Presenting Lorenzo Lamas-Craig!

Lorenzo's manager tells E! News that he's proud to become the first celebrity (?) to do such a thing! Such a fucking pioneer, that Lorenzo.

"He's going to legally change his name to Lorenzo Lamas-Craig. He's always thinking outside the box so he decided to become the first celebrity to take his wife's last name. His new wife didn't want to be called Shawna Lamas for obvious reasons."

Lorenzo Lamas is as crazy as his face is beat if he really thinks I'm going to call him Lorenzo Lamas-Craig. Typing and saying those extra syllables are just a waste of time. Time I can spend finding the 12-year-old slut from the 1980s that Shawna Craig snatched that half-sweater from. Besides, this marriage is going to last about as long as the will of a mortal man when he stares into the angelic eyes of the Empress of Lucite, so he'll be Lorenzo Lamas again in a quick minute.

Here's Lorenzo Lamas and his toddler bride Shawna Craig being greeted at LAX by a young child actor they totally hired from central casting. This really does count as an act of child abuse.

At last night's White House Correspondents dinner, basic cable reality stars (see: Sarah Palin), actors of The CW (see: Ian Somerhalder) and half-shaven comedic teddy bears (see: Zach Galifnotgoingtogooglerightnow) sprayed their pits with fancy water to nibble on overcooked filet mignon and flambe their creme brulee desserts on the hot flame that shot out of Donald Trump's dehydrated hairy toad asshole when Obama verbally double slapped him in the mouth over and over again. Watching a direct descendant of one of Jaba the Hutt's hemorrhoids sit there with a mad scowl on his face is what would consider as feel good porn. Trump got trumped and I'm sure even the lone sparkle in my rhinestone heart named Melania Trump let out a laugh or two. Melania later told her sugar daddy that she wasn't laughing, she was letting out a Slovenian boo.

As Obama poked at Trump with a LOL stick for that birth certificate ridiculousness, he just sat there with constipated smile on his face and squirmed like Melania whenever he gives her the "it's about that time to fulfill paragraph 5, line 10 of your marriage contract" sex look. I mean, the dumb douche could've let out a fake laugh or two to show that he's sort of a good sport, but he just had himself a pouty party for one instead. I really can't wait to see how the Trump responds. He already used all of his "miserable fat cow" lines on Rosie O'Donnell, so I'm sure he'll just say that Obama tells jokes like a Kenyan.

Click here if you want to see Obama's full act (and click here for Seth Meyers' speech).

And here's a few pictures of who put oxygen masks over their face as Trump got roasted. In order: Salma Hayek with her husband Francois-Henri Pinault, Zach Galifakanakakaisisis, Trump with Melania, Paula Abdul, Shaun White, Joan Rivers, Amy Poehler with friend, Anna Paquin with Beeeehl, Ian Somerhalder, Briston Palin, Jane Lynch with her wife Dr. Lara Embry, Cee-Lo Green, Sarah Palin, Rachel Maddow,

Some people choose to spend their hard-earned cash on neck acne treatment or tooth gloss, but this 29-year-old plumber from Bristol decided to hand over £1,000 for Prince Wills and Kate Middleton "gnasher tats." Barmy Baz Franks' (only a Barmy Baz Franks would do this shit) obsession with the royal wedding led him to a dentist chair where he spent 6 hours getting tiny decals of William & Kate pasted to the front of his chompers. Barmy Baz Franks will spend the next 3 months hearing "Oh, you've got a little royal in your teeth" from people who really want to say "Dumbass."

I just used my credit card to buy my dog a pair of clearance bin bunny ears, so who am I to judge someone on how they should spend their coins? But really? If you're going to turn your built-in Chiclets (or "mouth nails" as my little cousin calls them) into a tribute to our royal teethnesses, you could at least make sure it looks like them! Prince William looks like Sarah Jessica Parker as Black Swan and Kate Middleton looks like Iggy Pop after a root canal.

And does anybody know if this dentist also does royal decals on another part of the body that is pretty much dead and could use a little dressing up with Prince Harry's face? <--- That brings a whole new meaning to "gnasher tats."

In Sammy Hagar's new memoir Red: My Uncensored Life in Rock, writes about almost everything from Van Halen's drug days to the "sex tents" under the stage. But one thing Sammy doesn't really get into in his book is how aliens once abducted, probed and downloaded something into his head. This is what happens when you drunkenly stumble into a Scientology glory hole with your pants around your ankles. NO! Sammy Haggard says this really happened. Sammy's co-writer wouldn't let him get into the alien fuckery in his book, but he did tell the story to MTV Hive.

Put on your tin foil hats and get into this! If you don't want to mess up your hair, put on your tin foil genital hats and get into this!

Okay, let’s just cut to the chase. I’m just going to come out and ask it. Have you ever been abducted by aliens?
I think I have.

What? Really? I was kidding. You seriously believe that?
[Laughs.] Now you’re making me sound like a crazy person.

How is that crazy? I wasn’t there, I don’t know what happened to you.
Remember the story in the book, where I have a dream about being contacted by aliens in the foothills above Fontana?

Yeah, yeah, I’ve got the page right here. “I saw a ship and two creatures inside of this ship… And they were connected to me, tapped into my mind through some kind of mysterious wireless connection.” You’re telling me that wasn’t a dream?
That’s right. It was real. [Aliens] were plugged into me. It was a download situation. This was long before computers or any kind of wireless. There weren’t even wireless telephones. Looking back now, it was like, “Fuck, they downloaded something into me!” Or they uploaded something from my brain, like an experiment. “See what this guy knows.”

And this actually happened?
That happened. That friggin’ happened, I’ll tell you right now. Another thing happened when I was about four that I didn’t put into the book. One time I saw what I considered to be, well, at the time I thought it was a car with no wheels. We lived out in the country and I saw this thing floating across a field, creating this big dust storm. I threw rocks at it and shit. And I don’t know what happened after that.

You blacked out?
I guess. I just have no memory of it. And that wasn’t a dream. It was during daylight.

I can understand your apprehension. Alien abduction is a tough sell.
Especially back a few decades ago, when this stuff happened to me. I couldn’t talk about it because I didn’t know how to explain it. I didn’t understand the technology. But now I’m pretty sure it was a wireless situation. Either a download or upload. They were tapped into my brain and the knowledge was transferred back and forth. I could see them and everything while it was happening. There was a visual involved, almost like … I don’t know. [Laughs.] Don’t get me going!

Sammy better look outside his window, because Shelley Duvall is parked on his driveway and using her car's headlights to blink out the message "I Nanu Nanu You" in Morse code.

I ate at one of Sammy Hagar's Cabo Wabo restaurants before and afterward I felt like my ass was about to give birth to an alien, so this does make sense. But Sammy still has nothing to worry about. When the aliens tried to connect to his brain wirelessly they kept getting a request timeout error and so they moved on. No knowledge was transferred!

How does one greet the new Commander of the Order of the British Empire (whatever that is)? Do you get on the ground and salute with your nalgas ala Entrapment? Do you graciously bow down while saying under your breath, "The pleasure is mine, me lady...who isn't a minute over 41 and has never lied about her born year..."? Do you throw her a rose made of Botox vials? One thing I know you don't do is punch her in the face. And that's exactly what a paparazzo allegedly did to CJZ as she arrived at her hotel in London after being named the CBE.

In the video above from Entertainment Tonight, CZJ and Michael Douglas walk through a storm of camera flashes and once she gets to the front door of her hotel, she starts hollerin' out, "HE PUNCHED ME! HE PUNCHED ME! I WANT THE POLICE!" Who needs the bobbies when you've got Gordon Fucking Gecko?

If Michael Douglas was a band, his name would be Frail No More (GONG me and I'll call the bobbies), because he threw himself into the army of paps and puffed his nipples at the mofo who dropped a dose of disrespect on his wife.

The police were never called and CZJ's rep only said, "You saw it for yourself." But we really doesn't... You never actually see a pap's fist go into her face, but I'm going to choose to believe her. CZJ would never tell a lie (cut to her birth certificate laughing). I mean, who do we believe? A pap or THIS WOMAN:

Right? A glamour puss in a gold lamé catsuit deserves everyone's respect and trust!

Tony Romo, whose name always makes me crave ribs and lemon-scented moisties, has joined the race to the altar with his girlfriend Candice Crawford (the pretty princess on the left), sister of Chace Crawford (the PRETTIER princess on the right). People reports that Tony and Candice have put on their hitchin' sneakers and lined up next to Jessica Simpson (and her dude) and Nick Lachey (and his chick) at the wedding starting line. Boom.

30-year-old Tony proposed to 24-year-old Candice during her birthday party at Five Sixty Restaurant in Dallas, TX last night. This is some SHOTS fired shit, because Tony proposed to Candice on her birfday and dumped Jessica on hers. If you think that's a slight drop kick to Jessica's fupa, here's the ring Tony slipped on Candice's finger. It's almost as big as the stone that just formed in Papa Joe's kidney from stressing out about getting his daughter to a "Weez Married" cover of OK! Magazine first.

But Papa Joe shouldn't even try, because I have a feeling that John Mayer is going to beat all those bitches. Don't be surprised if you see the headline: "John Mayer marries Dane Cook in a beautiful Iowa ceremony." Double fucking whammy.