Well Well Well

White Oprah should be dragging Lindsay Lohan by the wig to a rehab/monastery/Hazmat Center, but instead she's out partying and talking to the media. Naturally. At a party for New Jersey Turnpike Fashion Week (no, she was at NYC Fashion Week, don't ask me why), UsWeekly asked White Oprah about her style. All of us see White Oprah's style as carefree elegance. White Oprah gets up in the afternoon, grabs a few weave pieces that LiLo shed on the floor throughout the night, sticks them on with a dab of her own vomit and then picks out the perfect dress for her to hike up over her waist when the bar's toilet is busy and she needs to squat a pee out in the alley. Carefree elegance! But White Oprah's hos, Lindsay and Ali, see her style as a complete horror show.

"My girls are always telling me to cut my hair. You know, you think you're fashion forward, and then you have children who are way more, but you make your own look [work]. But it's hard when you're girls are like, 'Mom, you're looking scary.'"

Lindsay & Ali to White Oprah: YOU'RE SCARING US!

The world to all the Lohans: YOU'RE SCARING US MORE!

Speaking of scary, Michael Lohan gave TMZ a picture of him applying for a job at a Burger King in Florida. Great, just what we need. I'm happy that Michael is actually getting a real job, but I'm not happy for the tortured people who will soon buy a piece of dead meat that will give them the shits from a piece of shit with dead meat for a soul.

Just a month after the reincarnation of God, Blue Ivy Carter, descended onto earth on the back of a platinum Pegasus, Beyonce stuffed herself into a Spanx cocoon last night to make her first public appearance at Jay-Z's charity concert at Carnegie Hall and the after-party at 40/40. The conspiracy theorists are straightening their tin foil wigs and screaming "DEM HIPS DO LIE!" while holding up their magnifying glasses to find concrete proof that Beyonce recycled her Tempur-Pedic baby into hip padding.

There are clearer pictures here that Dlisted's accountant (aka the receipt from the street ATM machine downstairs) tell me I can't afford and those pictures make me believe that those widened hips definitely made way for something and those titty balls are probably filled with sparkling leche (B.I.C. doesn't drink anything else). What I'm trying to say is that I'm pretty sure B.I.C. came from in there.

But wait. Do your hips still assume the birthin' position if you had a C-section? Cue up the 48 Hours Mystery theme song and hand me a piece of Reynolds Wrap. I'm not ready for a full-on tin foil hat, but I might be ready for a tin foil scrunchie.

Randy Travis was shuffled off to the drunk tank in Sanger, Texas at around 1 this morning after the cops ruined his buzz by catching him guzzling from a wine bottle while sitting in his car which was parked in front of a baptist church. If you put a banjo and a sprinkle of twang on that last sentence, it really would sound like a country song. As soon as Randy Travis smears some lip chap on those crackle lips (Seriously, couldn't the cops have given Randy a dollop of Vaseline for his mug shot moment?), he should write that song.

NBCDFW says that someone called the police to complain about a suspicious-looking vehicle parked in front of the church. The cops answered the call and found Randy sitting in his car. When Randy rolled the window down, the cops practically got tanked from inhaling his 100 proof wine breath. Randy had an open bottle of wine on his lap, so the cops killed his car party for one and dragged him to jail. Randy was booked on public intoxication and dried out in the tank for a few hours before he was released.

Who hasn't been arrested for getting drunk on the blood of christ in front of a church? But the thing is, Randy Travis lives in some town called Tiogra, which isn't far from where the cops got his ass. So why wasn't Randy getting plastered under his carport like all the Texans I know? Let's hope that Randy learned a valuable lesson from this. The lesson being that when a trick you met from Grindr (or Craigslist, or from calling a number you found scribbled in front of a urinal in a truck stop bathroom) tells you to meet them in front of the baptist church with a bottle of Chateau Diane, tell them to come to your carport instead!

No, seriously, I had this friend in L.A. who never let the tricks he met online come into his house. He'd meet them in front and then take them into the garage. They'd do their thing on an old futon and then he'd kick them out. His reasoning was that he was too lazy to go to their house and he didn't want them to come inside his just in case they were thieves. He'd tell them that his dog didn't like strangers. So there's your Ho Shit tip of the day! Hopefully, it goes from my blog to Randy's eyes.

Maybe it's because I'm on my way to becoming MVP of 2012's Super Smoke A Bowl, but that whole Super Bowl halftime show was an overstuffed ball of WTF wrapped in a sequined straitjacket made of pure CRAZY. That was like the dream sequence from The Big Lebowski crashing into She-Ra before getting hit head on with a glitter queef out of Elton John's ass. Madge LIP-SYNCHED FOR HER LIFE (and I think she fucked it up), LMFAO are like outcast Fraggles on low grade meth and Cee-Lo looked like a fat T-Rex dressed like a gay priest. Just every layer and shade of WTF. What I'm saying is, I think I liked it for that very reason.

Baby Brahim better be filling a tub made of children's skulls with BenGay, because Madge is going to need to SOAK her sore bones tonight after nearly falling on her ass. Madge twerked so hard that I'm sure she cracked two hips and pulled all her muscles. It's okay, I'm sure they're healing her with the saliva of Satan and fresh fetus veins. She'll be humping her mamaw crotch on Baby Brahim by midnight Indiana time.

Madge must have been slathered in a fresh coat of melted doll skin before she was carried out on the field, because she looked exactly like a retired Team America puppet. Bitch kind of danced like one too. And you should remember this show, because in about 20 years Lady CaCa will be doing a low-budget version when she performs at the halftime show for Queensborough Community College's touch football championship.

And in cased you missed it, here's M.I.A.'s STUNT EMPRESS (this is way beyond a Stunt Queen) move. Oh, M.I.A., you so edgeeee.

I love a middle finger, but I'd rather see Janet Jackson's nipple again.

via TDW & Buzzfeed

You know what question I'm talking about since you're asking that question right now while staring at that picture of THE QUEEN! What kind of royal secrets are hiding within The Queen's beloved pocketbook? The pocketbook that she takes with her to sit on both royal thrones. The pocketbook that she cuddles with at night. The pocketbook that is her conjoined twin and her only confidante. Memaws are serious about their handbags and The Queen has never been an exception. But a royal biographer, who is obviously going to be executed soon for committing treason, did some ninja-like shit to uncover what lies beneath Her Majesty's handbag.

In Sally Bedell Smith's new book, she claims the following shit always has a place in The Queen's pocketbook. From The Telegraph (via Jezebel):

- A mirror, because every queen must have a portable mirror with her to ask who the fairest of all is. (FYI: When The Queen asks, this is what her mirror shows her.)

- A £5 or £10 note to drop in the donation basket at church on Sundays.

- Mints, lipstick, reading glasses and a pen.

- A plastic suction cup with a hook to hang her best friend on. An anonymous source explained it like this: “I watched the Queen open her handbag and remove a white suction cup and discreetly spit into it. The Queen then attached the cup to the underside of the table. The cup had a hook on it, and she attached her handbag to it.”

The Queen ain't the one to let her precious purse sit on the floor where the dirt of a commoner's common shoes lie. Sally also wrote that if Her Majesty needs a pair of gloves, her ladies-in-waiting hold on to that kind of shit for her. But you know, this is kind of disappointing and it must be some kind of cover up. I refuse to believe that The Queen's pocketbook isn't filled with bricks (for when she really needs to fuck a bitch up by hitting them over the head) and a lone house slipper (for when she really needs to slap one of her grandchildren in the teeth for sass talking). I won't take any other answer.

And unfortunately, I don't have any answers for the other question that just loaded into your brain which is: Why the fuck did I read this shit?

Since we're on the subject of THE ROYALS!!!, here's the tingle of my loins Prince Hot Ginge leaving some club in London last night with Becks. That scratch on his nose? Yup, sass talking to his memaw again.

And thy name is Nate Naylor.

I really hope that you have an eyeball on your chin so that you can read all about our modern day Adonis as you lick his picture. This perfect human man (not my words) is currently blessing Scarlett Johansson's double Mount Olympus chichis with his natural beauty and so People put up their magnifying glass to him to find out who he really is. It reads like a press release about him, written by him and he should really start a second career in writing Match.com profiles. Nate Naylor (pronounced: Nate Nail Her) is in the business of overselling shit (surprise, surprise) and works as an advertising executive in NYC.

Nate has a NSFWish Tumblr, dated Kristen Johnston for a quick minute, is an Arizona native and is so beautiful in person that looking at him is like looking at a unicorn made of marijuana dancing on top of a double rainbow over an In-N-Out. Basically, Nate always keeps fresh silk hankies in his pocket, because you will weep like it's the first time you've wept when you see his face up close.

This is the second fact from People's "What You Need To Know About Nate Naylor" list and it's the only thing you need to know about Nate Naylor:

2. He gets high praise from friends – for his work and looks

Naylor "is the most beautiful man I've ever seen in person," says fellow freelance creative director Lawson Clarke, who is known in the ad world as Male Copywriter. "He basically looks like Morrissey in his prime." But Naylor's not just another pretty face. "Bottom line is Nate's a great guy and really respected in the industry," adds Clarke, who has worked with Naylor multiple times. "Scarlett should be so lucky."

"Nate Naylor is the most beautiful man I've ever seen in person." - Lawson Clarke

"He basically looks like Morrissey in his prime." - Lawson Clarke

Nate Naylor should get both of those quotes tattooed on his ass and forehead, because those words will close all deals. I swear, Lawson Clarke is the greatest dick puller ever. Now I'm not saying that Nate Naylor ain't hot (because I'd hit it, duh), but I am saying that Lawson Clarke has only seen three men in person and the other two were Brian Peppers and Mimi in drag. So he's not lying.

The pictures of GOOPY Paltrow in Harper's Bazaar will cover your eyes with the organic grease that's smeared all over her legs, but don't worry you'll wipe those away as soon as your eyes start rotating at all the colon balls of pretension that come leaping, twirling and floating off of her tongue. You know, though, this interview isn't as ridiculous as the usual shit that comes spewing out of her talk hole. The worst part doesn't come from the mouth of GOOP, it comes from Harper's writer Justine Picardie. Justine drank the GOOP and kept drinking the GOOP until the GOOP started spilling out of the pores on her fingers. I mean....:

We've grown accustomed to the symmetry of her face and her killer body displayed on the red carpet since her catapult to fame in the '90s. But when you see her today, without the distractions of props or makeup or styling, in jeans and a white button-down shirt, Gwyneth's calm beauty is striking, as is her extraordinary discipline. As she falls naturally into yoga stretches during the course of the conversation, supple as a cat, you realize that this is a woman for whom working out has become essential.

And excuse me as my mouth naturally falls onto my erect finger so I can wet heave and jerk my head until my brain has erased that paragraph from my memory. I bet GOOPY totally served Justine a pizza from her wood-burning garden pizza oven. All of the powers of GOOP lie within that wood-burning garden pizza oven. Or the porcelain bathtub in her bedroom. Those are the weapons of GOOP's mass pretentious. Now on to quotes!

On how she loves the wrinkles that were majorly Photoshopped off in these pictures: "I'll take my wrinkles. I don't like the Botox thing."

She goes on to admit that she gets tons of facials and has done laser treatments. I believe her. Like this bitch is really going to fill her face with some shit any poor can buy with a credit card. Botox is so provincial. If Fishsticks wants to get rid of a wrinkle, she just recites Justine's paragraph above into the mirror and her face will naturally barf out globs of fat that will fill her lines. Voila!

On how she goes on a 12-week detox every season: "I have a lot of inflammation in my system, so I'm not having anything I'm allergic to—no gluten, no dairy, no sugar. I'll wake up exhausted; I can feel my adrenal cortex being really high. When I get into bed, my heart will pound, my skin won't be good, I'll feel cranky, and then I'll just know it's time."

So if this bitch detoxes for 48 weeks out of the year, that means most of the year she spends starving herself and shitting her asshole off. This explains everything. If you only ate grass sweat and laxatives camouflaged as organic vitamins, any sense of reality you had would come shooting out of your b-hole.

On how her father's death SAVED her life: "All I've learned about nutrition and health came from his cancer. I'll probably have a long and healthy life because he didn't."

On how she thought Apple was going to be a junior butch lez: "I've been saving my clothes for her since before she was born. I was like, I'll bet you anything I'll have a daughter, and she'll be a really cool butch lesbian and be so above clothes, and I got a very clothes-obsessed child. So if she's a lesbian, she's a lipstick lesbian. She doesn't like anything avant-garde at all. She likes anything that's pretty, pretty, pretty or has a bow or a ruffle or is pink."

On her anti-feminist advice to her really famous friend (like she has any other kind): "She is an actress and in a new relationship with someone else with a big career, and I said this may not be feminist, but you have to compromise. It's been all about you and you're a big deal. And if you want what you're saying you want—a family—you have to be a wife, and that is part of the equation. Gloria Steinem may string me up by my toes, but all I can do is my best, and I can do only what works for me and my family."

On how her husband Chris Martin doesn't pass his peen around, but one of her ex-boyfriends did: "I had a boyfriend who used to cheat on me all the time. I was quite naive. I knew on a cellular level, but I bought his story."

The cheating boyfriend is totally Brad Pitt (or Ben Affleck). The actress friend is totally Cameron Diaz (exhibit: A!). And I'm totally going to juice a box of Twinkies and eat a bowl of corn syrup sprinkled with powdered preservatives until my heart is pounding, my skin hurts and cranky is the only emotion I feel. Because if that's this twat's idea of being wrong, then I don't ever want to be right!

On Sunday night's The Real Howives of Atlanta, common felon turned kept bitch Marlo Hampton got into a butch bitch battle royale with resident doberman Sheree Whitfield and it quickly turned into Marlo bragging about how her townhouse is paid for, her Aston Martin is in her name and she didn't have to spend a cent of her own money on her adam's apple removal surgery. (I made that one up, but pass me Marlo's medical file and I'm sure I'll be able to point to it.) Sheree then let it be known that Marlo got all of the fancy shit she owns by opening her legs to an 80-year-old white sugar daddy. I know, Sheree said it like it's a bad thing. Marlo is just using what a good surgeon gave her to make it rain hundred dollar bills without getting out of bed. My dream job.

Part of me thinks that Marlo was one of those frontin' hos who drives a 1988 Toyota Tercel with an Aston Martin shell over it, lives in the detached garbage behind the townhouse she says she owns and buys all of her luxury "designer" bags from an exclusive boutique housed in the back of a truck. But if Hello Beautiful (via C+D) is right, then I'm very wrong. Because they're hearing from a source that Marlo hit the sugar daddy jackpot yeeeeaaaars ago when billionaire Ted Turner put her on his payroll:

“Ted Turner was Marlo’s sugar daddy. My understanding is that Marlo is one of the reasons why Jane Fonda divorced Ted Turner.

Ted Turner is the 'sponsor' who financed the The Red Carpet Boutique Marlo had at the Perimeter mall in ATL. Marlo knows how to get money, she’s a true hustler.”

Well, color me impressed and punch me in the face with a Hanoi Jane fist. Marlo is not only a spot-on Chilli from TLC female impersonator, but she's also a successful gold digger. Marlo's talents know no bounds and here she is showing off one of the talents she shares with her arch rival Sheree:

Say what you want about Marlo, but you can't deny that she has the fighting skills of one of those sound-activated goblin Halloween props you buy at Walgreens. Now that is a true talent.

Doesn't it seem like just yesterday the media was asking a young Daniel Radcliffe what kind of Legos he likes to play with (or whatever) and now the media is asking him about how he likes his coochie. They grow up so fast. DanRad and Heat Magazine (via Entertainmentwise) were talking about how he let his Jewish peen bush be great in Equus and that somehow led to him confessing that if he's not pulling pubes off his tongue, he's not messing with it:

"This is way too much information, but I don't like girls with nothing down there either. It freaks me out. You have to have something, otherwise it's fucking creepy,"

And now we know that DanRad has licked on a hairless skin mitten and it was creepy to his ass because it was like sucking on a hairless armadillo's armpit or giving a raspberry to a plate of dried mangos. THANKS, Harry Potter. But I'm with him. Genital shrubs are there for a reason. It gives you something to look at while you're down there and it sometimes protects your nose. What if you're really getting into it and you accidentally scrape your nose on their crotch stubble. It can happen! A good day would be not having to explain to people that the scratch on your nose is from rubbing up against the stubble patch on your piece's crotch.

Water is wet, I flicked at my nipple while using the neti pot this morning, Tommy Girl took his toast with a thick layer of nut butter and Lindsay Lohan allegedly snorted her way to fucked up and back on Sunday night. The headline "Lindsay Lohan Gets Loaded at Chateau Marmont" is about as shocking as the headline "Angelina Jolie Only Ate Air Today," but let's hear what Radar has to say about this mess anyway. Radar's source claims that at a SAG Awards party at Chateau Marmont on Sunday night, Blohan slurred her words and her eyes were so damn glassy that you could've cut a line on them. Apparently, she tried to look like the epitome of sober by only sipping on water, but her coke burnt nose told a different story. So said the source:

"Lindsay was spotted going to the restroom with a male companion on numerous occasions in a short amount of time. When the two of them emerged from the bathroom, Lindsay was giggling and her nose appeared red. Lindsay was spotted only drinking water in the lounge area, but she appeared to be loaded on something, and she seemed under the influence. Lindsay's eyes were glassy and her pupils were constricted. [She] was definitely on something. She was slurring her words, and needed help walking at one point in the course of the night. Lindsay was sitting on a chair adjacent to Harvey Weinstein's party - his was roped off and she didn't get past the rope. So she sat on the other side looking over. She looked bedraggled and desperate."

Of course, LiLo's rep denies all of this.

The only language Lindsay Lohan knows is Drunk Slur and her pupils are just naturally constricted now, so it would really be news if she was talking without a slur and walking without tripping over herself. But I CAN'T with her hibernating in the bathroom all night. Who does she think she is? Kim Richards from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills? I hate that shit. That is why going to certain places is the worst. There's always some cokehead cokejacking the bathroom when all you want to do is take a quick caca, because you made the wrong decision of drinking a White Russian. You know how some bathrooms have a baby changing station? Chateau Marmont needs a coke snorting station just for Blohan. Let the non-snorters shit!