Zombies

The zombie apocalypse is a real thing and it's suddenly entered a terrifying new phase, because zombies are so damn desperate that they're willing to put their mouths on the douche leather covering Danny Bonadouchie's face. The News Tribune says that Danny was in the middle of a fan meet-and-greet at a casino in Bow, Washington on Friday night when one of his fans decided that what would really make her time with him extra special is if they re-enacted the cheek butchering scene from Cape Fear.

Danny says that the fan asked him if she could kiss him on the cheek and after he gave a thumbs up to that, she sunk her teeth into his face like he was a ginger-glazed partridge straight out of the oven. Danny is usually so drunk and coked up that he can't feel his face, but he says that when that crazy bitch had her teeth in his skin, he felt things pop. So bitch must be sober for real.

Security eventually pulled the zombie off of Danny's face and he said that his first thought was that the ho must be high on bath salts. She was arrested, but Danny says that he's not pressing charges against her and he's not mad. Danny has a few bite marks on his cheek and they gave him some antibiotics, but he doesn't know yet if he's been turned out by a zombie. Scientists say that when a trick gets successfully zombie-fied, they slobber at the mouth uncontrollably, stumble into walls and lose all communication skills, and since Danny Bonaduce already acts like that all the time, we will never know the truth.

And the crazy zombie who bit Danny didn't need to be treated with antibiotics, but she did need to spend a few hours in the tank drying out since she instantly got drunk just from biting into his skin.

I know. I know. It's Met Ball bukkake on Dlisted today, but this is hopefully my last post on this mess and I'm going out on a terrifying note by giving you things that do bumps in the night. While human hos at the ball sipped on calorie-free champagne, these vampires, zombies, charbroiled trolls and grandma witches sipped on calorie-free carbonated souls. If you put your ear to the screen, you can practically hear the screeches from a pristine young virgin running naked through the halls of the Met as these scary bitches chase after her. Where was Scooby-Doo and the rest of the Mystery, Inc. gang when hos needed them most?

Grab your crucifix, put your garlic bulb anal chain around your neck and get close to the Royal Court of the Death Eaters. In order: Mary-Kate Olsen (looking like the Snow White witch after the dwarves dropped that boulder on her), Anna Wintour, Ronnie Wood (with his toddler-aged girlfriend), Sarah Jessica Parker with Tan Mom's skin idol Valentino, Donatella Versace, Chupa Zoe and Lana Del Taco.

Posh Beckham is the sleepiest zombie in the graveyard, but she still had enough energy to pull herself out of her crypt to party with Eva Longoria and Kate Beckinsale at a Vanity Fair party in L.A. last night. Last week Posh was grabbing Becks' balls through the power of the optical illusion, this week she's grabbing on Eva's titty balls and let's hope that next week she's grabbing on a pair of meat balls from Ikea. That sinister "nibbling on the fat-free parts of your soul" smirk is scaring/scarring me! Posh looks like Mr. Burns dragging it up in disguise as a Pan Am flight attendant so that he can join the zombie mile high club by eating brains in the lavatory.

You know how at the end of the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland you face a mirror that shows ghosts and ghouls sitting on your head and shit? That's what this looks like. Although, Eva Longoria is too busy flirting with the camera to know that she's wearing a cold zombie hand bra.

That said, I'd rather see Posh's zombie hands over Eva's chesticles than the shit she's wearing. That dress is a world of NO on Eva. If my free clinic therapist held up one of these pictures of Eva and asked me what I see in her titty area, I'd say I see two side shadowy profiles of the triangle bird from Angry Birds and a whole lot of desperation. Eva just doesn't have the demure grace of Courtney Stodden and Anne V to pull off a dress of elegance like this.

The starving orphans of the world sent their rations to Posh Beckham last week after she showed up to NYC Fashion Week looking like she was raised by White Oprah. Bitch makes a praying mantis look like a heffa mantis and even Macaulay Culkin is passing Posh a jumbo can of Dinty Moore. But Posh says that every bitch getting hot over her appearance needs to fuck an ice cube, because she's perfectly fine. Posh just has a lot on her plate and none of it is food. At some party for London Fashion Week, Posh told The Mirror that you can stop throwing hamburger patties at her now, because she's just suffering from a serious case of the tireds.

“Look, if people want to say I’m miserable then so be it. I’m really not. I have a lot on my plate. I’m not going to lie about it, I’m tired. I’m really tired but I’m also very happy with my life.

I’m basically just like any woman who’s working and has lots of children – it’s tough. I’m not getting much sleep at all. Harper’s not sleeping that great, and I’ve been taking Skype business calls throughout the night too because of the collections. I’m up with the baby as all mums are and I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s not a team of people doing it for me. And then people want to say I look crap. Well, I’m a working mum, so give me a break.

It’s actually been crazy. I had Harper, I was working on the collection and I was straight back into it. I took a lot on board. I’m tired. You can’t look your best all the time.

The thing is I get the game I’m in. People can read the shit about me and believe what they want and I get it. But I don’t want to focus on that side of things. The glass is always half full for me. You can’t get hung up on what other people say. I surround myself with the people that matter. And ­everything else can just go away.”

The glass is always half full? Please. Posh's glass is always full since she never sips from it just in case a bitch sneakily squeezes some lemon juice in there to give her malnourished carcass some damn calories. No, I shouldn't say that. It's really hard out there for a Posh. Posh has to snap at her team of nannies to up Harper's Pilates workout to twice a day so the baby fat melts away faster. Posh has to snap at her team of fashion designers to only make her dresses in negative sizes. (Size 2 is a PLUS SIZE and Posh's fashion collection is strictly a NO FATTIES zone.) Posh has to do all of that while maintaining a miserable parched look on her face. It's exhausting! If you had to do all of that, you too would look like a schoolgirl alien zombie who just nibbled all the way through a Kardashian's head and didn't find even one piece of brain. Tiring!

Judge Stephanie Saunter told Lindsay Lohan in court yesterday that she has to complete at least 16 hours of community service in the morgue before her next hearing on November 2nd or else! TMZ says that LiLo told friends that she's really serious about her community service this time and she's going to go to the morgue every single day until her hearing to prove to the judge that all those other 5 million times she fucked up was just a fluke. LiLo was supposed to show up to the morgue at 8am today and since this is Lindsay Lohan I'm blogging about, you know what happened next.

LiLo's assistant called the morgue and told them she was going to be 10 minutes late. When 8:10 hit the clock, the morgue was still LiLo-less. At one point, a morgue worker thought they spotted her lying on a gurney, but when he threw an 8-ball at the floor, it didn't move. Not LiLo. But fuck up's greatest ambassador finally sashayed in at 8:40, but was quickly shut down and turned away for being late. LiLo immediately spread her cheeks, pulled an excuse out of her ass and threw it at her Twitter page:

With all of the stress and pressure from yesterday and today, I've never been so happy to go to therapy!!!! Also, I'm sorry for the confusion that I may of caused to those at the Coroner's office. Won't happen again, now I know where to go! Thank you for your help.

LiLo's rep said that she couldn't find the entrance and all of the media chaos made things confusing for her. The Coroner's office let the Probation Department know that she was late who in turn told Judge Stephanie. LiLo wasn't required to be at the morgue today, but TMZ seems to think that if she wants to show the judge that she's not thumbing her nose at authority, this is not how she should do it. I think we're way past the point of LiLo "thumbing her nose at authority." At this point, Blohan has grabbed authority by its nuts, chopped it into a fine powder and used her thumb to snort it up.

But I do love that this dumb bitch is trying to say that she couldn't find the front door for 40 minutes. If LiLo really wants to get to the morgue tomorrow, she just needs to put on the same make-up she put on yesterday (see above), call an ambulance, lay down on her living room floor and then wait for them to take here there directly!

Since SATC2: Dry Vaginas in the Desert was such a critically acclaimed masterpiece that won several Oscars and was called a cinematic wonder that film historians will continue to study for centuries to come, Sarah Jessica Parker and Michael Patrick King are talking about making a third one. And they've already come up with the storyline. There has to be a better way for those whores to stuff more millions of dollars into their feed bags without terrorizing the public's senses, right? I fucking guess not, because SJP said this to Parade Magazine (via HuffPo) when she was asked if there were any plans for her to pull out her Louis Vuitton whip and beat that dead horse again (insert "horse beating a dead horse" meta joke here):

“There is. I know what the story is. It’s a small story, but I think it should be told. The question is, what’s the right time to tell it?”

I've said before that SATC3 should be the pilot episode of the Golden Girls, but I've changed my mind. Those four shaved and embalmed hyenas in $1600 shoes are far from the Golden Girls. SJP ripped out all those characters' hearts and nibbled on their souls, so they're basically just zombies now. Zombies in the City! George Romero should direct that shit.

The only story there is to tell is the one where Rojo Caliente acts for the people by locking those three hags (Mrs. Rojo is excused) in a tomb and lets them nag each other's faces off while she sits on a folding chair, slowly eating Red Hots in front of the camera for 120 minutes. SATC3: Rojo's Revolt, that's the only shit I want to see.

In order to fit into a pair of -10 jeans, Karl Lagerfeld's entire digestive system was removed, so now he gets his nutrients from feeding off of the gasps the audience at his fashion shows make when he sends a $3,000 cob web tunic down the runway. And he also gets life when he listens to the remaining fat on a model eating away at itself after she snorts a line of the bad shit. So because of this, I thought it was a little crotch-scratching strange when Magnum ice cream hired Karl to direct their commercial starring Rachel Bilson.

I used to think that Karl Lagerfeld and ice cream went together like Donald Trump and common sense. But Kunty Karl tells W Magazine that he's actually a perfect fit since his father was a milkman of sorts and he looooooves chocolate even if it never passes through his zombie lips.

So why ice cream?
Don’t forget my father was a milkman. He produced Carnation milk in Europe under different names, so I like to say he was a milkman. And ice cream is made with milk, no?

Do you eat it?
I would love to if I was allowed to eat sugar, but my doctor told me that sugar wasn’t needed for me so I haven’t touched it in ten years. I also did the ad for Dom Pérignon and I don’t drink alcohol, but I think it’s a very civilized drink.

Do you crave sugar?
No. Gone. But I like chocolate. I don’t eat it, but I like the smell of it. People can drink with their eyes; I can eat with my nose. I would love to have a perfume based on chocolate.

"I can eat with my nose." - White Oprah's newest diet mantra

After Shawn Southwick tried to bust a nut by fucking on random dead bodies in the county morgue, she realized that no corpse can do her like Larry King can, so she immediately stopped divorce proceedings.

Larry King and Shawn announced that they are back together again and trying to make it work. This is good news for them, but bad news for those of you freaks out there who were hoping to take a ride on the same skeleton that once titty banged Nefertiti back in the day.

Shawn and Larry had this to say about their reconciliation:

"We love our children, we love each other, we love being a family. That is all that matters to us. We owe it to ourselves and our children to continue being dedicated to each other. We want to thank our friends for their loyal love and support – for being there for us."

Larry King might have been dropped dick dust all over the ass cheeks of Shawn's sister, and Shawn might have boned her kids' little league coach, but at the end of the day these two know that they really belong together. Who else is going to give Larry's ass lips a little pinch while applying Desitin? And who else can catch a fly with his tongue when one lands on Shawn's arms?

via People

NO! Vadge would never leave her coffin without bathing in hot wax and covering her body with the pelts of a dozen obese fetuses. Iggy Pop does not give a beef jerky fuck that he's walking around looking like he was just exhumed after hundreds of years. Who cares if the worms are still wiggling under his skin! Iggy's got this!

Here's Iggy literally melting for his fans while performing in London last night. That theater probably smelled like boiled embalming fluid, muddled raisins, pork fat fresh off the bone and the tears from a million scared children. Basically it smelled like Freddy Krueger getting a skin graft underneath a McDonald's heat lamp.

And just for the record, I sooo would. WELL, I'm sure his dick looks like a pork rind and you know how I always buy a bag of those when I go on a road trip.

With the likes of Bombshit McGross and Jamie Juggalooorwhatever getting most of the attention on the mistress circuit, we've been in dire need of a side-piece with peen, and now we have one! Although, I'm not sure if this is exactly what we ordered, because bitch looks like a Tool Academy reject who didn't even make it past admissions. We'll take it, for now.

Hector Penate (that's "Peenate" to all of us), a little league coach, has ran off to InTouch Weekly to collect a check for the details of his alleged affair with Larry King's wife Shawn Southwick.

The two met while Hector coached Larry and Shawn's young sons in New Hampshire. Peenate said that during his year-long fuck party with Shawn, she bought him a BMW and paid his rent. Cut to Peenate: “We had sex in Larry’s bed — a lot. I felt like it was my house. She paid my rent, she bought me clothes and a BMW 7 Series. She wanted to have a little girl with me. She was trying to fertilize her eggs to do that."

According to Peenate, Larry even knew about the affair but didn't give a dead squirrel's ass, because he was too busy sharing his love with Shawn's sister Shannon. Larry even co-signed on Peenate's apartment in Studio City after Shawn asked him too. Peenate went on to say, “She controlled him. He just sat there and signed it. (pause) He’s a sex freak."

So basically Peenate is trying to tell us that Shawn and Larry had an open marriage of sorts. Thank you for that vital piece of world history, Peenate. And thank you for calling Larry a "sex freak,' because now I can't get the image of him humping on anything that can't run away. Looks like an elderly Chinese Crested dog slobbering at both holes. Thanks, Peenate,

And I change my mind about keeping Peenate for now. I'm returning his ass thanks to this tattoo of a Benedictine Monk lyric. Chant your ass away!

Image via Pacific Coast News