Courtney Love

The Fix's Maer Roshan spent months inside of Courtney Love's head poking at the malnourished rats, putting out the trash can hobo fires and trying to make sense of the scribbled thoughts that her brain spits out. Maerwrote an article last May about his time with Courtney, but there were so many strands of fuckery that didn't make the article so he used them in a new e-book on her. Even though Courtney threatened to ruin his ass, Maer still went through his old notes, interviewed people in her life and read legal documents to put the book together. There's some priceless pieces of it on The Fix, but one of my favorite is a quote from Courtney where she says crack transformed her brain into that of a calculus genius:

“The strange thing is, while the crack screwed me up in a lot of ways, it improved me in certain others. I’ve never been good with numbers, but when I was on crack I could do math really, really well. I became a fucking whiz at calculus.” 


This ho is crazy, but what I want to know is, when does Courtney Love ever come in contact with calculus. Like did she have calculus books laying around? You know how Snapple has facts written on their caps? Does a bag of crack rocks come with a mathematical problem? I can just picture Courtney scribbling all sorts of shit on the wall like numbers, shapes, Looney Tunes characters, the middle names of her enemies and thinking to herself that she's really making calculus her bitch when she's actually just drawing a bunch of gibberish. Calculus? More like Crackulus. Courtney is like the crackhead Good Will Hunting and I really hope Matt Damon plays her in the movie.

With all that being said, I still wish Courtney was the Secretary of Education when I was in school, because then smoking crack would've been part of our daily math curriculum! I still would've failed math, but at least I could've been fucked up on crack while doing so.

via HuffPo

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
31 Dec

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.

Donna Lyon needs more people, or at least needs one person to tell her that when you rent your $8 million townhouse to Courtney Love, your shit will get messed up. The #1 rule in real estate has always been: Do not rent to Courtney Love unless you don't care if your house ends up looking like an abandoned Salvation Army turned homeless crack den. Donna did not know this, because she let Courtney live in her West Village townhouse eight months ago and now she wants to be rid of the mess. Donna filed papers in NYC to evict Courtney for almost burning her house down, wallpapering over custom-glazed walls and not paying her rent for the past 2 months. Wait until Donna finds out that Courtney turned her basement into a meth lab/anti-Dave Grohl shrine that's run by a homeless man she pays in handjobs and cigarette butts.

Donna tells Page Six that when she bought the townhouse last year, she brought some fancy interior designer in to do the whole place. Shortly after Courtney moved in and started paying $27,000 a month, she painted and wallpapered most of the walls in the house. Donna thinks it will take $100,000 and 12 weeks to get the house back to what it looked like before the meth tornado swept in. Donna went on to say, “Courtney has wallpapered and painted a large portion of the property without my consent. I learned about this when I wanted to sell the house and had photographs taken. They sent me the brochure and I said, ‘This can’t be my property.’ I came to New York to see it and I was horrified by what she had done. The walls that had been hand-painted and glazed were ruined, covered in damask wallpaper and ice-blue paint.”

Courtney and Donna will knife fight in court during a hearing scheduled for next week.

Donna is doing it wrong by going to the courts. If she really wants Courtney out, she just has to throw a RAID fogger through the front door and when that albino human roach comes running out, destroy her by splashing a mixture of Borax and sugar at her. It's that easy. Or Donna can just make her money back by letting Ryan Murphy shoot the next season of American Horror Story in her townhouse with Courtney still in it.

When Courtney Love decided to crash accept an invitation to the after-party for the family movie Hugo, she knew she wanted to bring bountiful amounts of demure sophistication to the eyes of the children. So Courtney threw her white dragon carcass into a red satin dress, picked up her pizza dough tits, threw them up into the air and let them fall where they may. Then Courtney sashayed through the streets of Manhattan toward the Hugo after-party and made the children scatter by being completely oblivious to the fact her left titty was flopping around like an out-of-water blob fish gasping for air. Bitch's chichi was obviously trying to escape. It wanted to jump out of that dress and slither down into the subway to be raised by rats so it can have some kind of life! But it lost its chance when Courtney ran into the legendary Radio Man and cuddled up next to him. Poor old Radio Man. Dude is pretty much always on the streets and he's never once caught a serious case of Scabies until he got close to Courtney. Well DAMN!

Before you say that Courtney's nipple plate would've never popped out if she wore her dress the right way, think about it. The streets of Manhattan are free of children, because Courtney's areola put the fright in all of them. They won't come out from under their beds until their parents promise to clear the house of stale pepperoni and chewed-up salami. We can thank Courtney's nightmare-inducing nipple for that.

And is it just me or does it look like the silicone sack in her left titty migrated to her right titty to be reunited with its silicone twin?

Thousands of Brazilians found out the painful way that yes, it's possible for your eyeballs to rip themselves from their bloody socket veins when they're faced with a direct threat. Hole performed at Brazil's SWU Festival on Saturday night, and despite warnings from the local health department to keep her top on, Courtney Love pulled her nipple knob out like a stranger in front of a Wendy's was waiting to suck on it. Just like that, Braille has become the #1 form of communication in Brazil. If you really want your corneas to hate you, click here to see the pictures of Courtney's silicone dough sack.

Right after the demure gutter weed flower made Brazilian corneas combust, she brought the crazy center stage and cursed out a bitch who kept holding up a picture of Kurt Cobain (video above). Court stopped playing, fucked a ho with her middle finger and then let out this wave of word fuckery at him:

"I don't need to see a picture of Kurt asshole and I'm going to have you fucking removed if you keep holding that up. I'm not Kurt, I have to live with his shit and his ghost and his kid every day and throwing that up is stupid and rude and I'm going to beat the fuck out of you if you do it again.

You weren’t fucking married to him, I fucking was. You didn’t get kicked out of a band by him, like Dave, he did. Go see the fucking Foo Fighters and do that shit."

"....and his kid every day...." Those maternal words are like a loving hug around the damaged parts of Frances Bean's heart.

Courtney took her tantrum off stage, but came back a second later after someone in her entourage (read: her dealer) told the audience that The Foo Fighters are gay. Well, just like every former heterosexual dude in the audience who ran to the bright side after staring at Court's tits, The Foo Fighters are in good company! But seriously, even though Courtney is the ghost of Ke$hit's future who can knock the feeling out of a bitch's genitals just by flashing her nipples, I still have a soft spot for her. And yes, I should really try to harden that soft spot with a topical ointment.

NO! Madge wishes! This is the ghost of Lindsay Lohan's future (LiLo wishes!) Courtney Love scarring and scaring the students at Trinity College as she graciously accepts an honorary patronage of the pharmaceutical society (the photo agency tagged it as the "philosophical society" for some weird reason) in Dublin tonight.

The air in the theater was thick with crazy and queefs that contained an undertone scent of metal, and one member of the audience remembered to return his Planet Earth DVDs when he watched Courtney stumble across the stage like an albino otter with mange trying to swallow a catfish head whole. But believe or not, nobody ran out of the theater screaming for their Jesus, because Courtney gave them everything.

In this picture, Courtney showed the audience what most sober people do when they come across her in the wild in broad daylight. In this picture, Courtney is telling everyone to sit very still and not move, because she thinks she saw a coke granule float into the room on a sliver of wind. In this picture, Courtney forgot that she was in a room full of people and did some sucio shit that took 5 Catholic priests and a gallon of whiskey to cleanse off of the stage floor. In this picture, Courtney passed out again while standing up as her nose punctured a new hole in itself for air. Finally, in this picture, Courtney's complex thoughts became too much for her brain to take and she could feel it trying to slip out through her nostril holes. She can feel it! Can't you see it? She can feel it!

What I'm trying to say is that this fucked up bitch gave everyone a whore de force performance! This looks like a corner crackie performing a one whore version of The Birds for the hobos in the park. Courtney is playing Tippi AND the birds. The audience better have stood up and did what the free clinic doctor does after Courtney asks why her coochie looks like that: CLAPPED! Because Court gave them a show! Court also gave them nightmares to take them through the new year, which is why she was kind enough to sell them all sleeping pills she smuggled in from England. Courtney is a one woman EVERYTHING!

Last year, Courtney Love focused her crazed rage on Vanity Fair's Lynn Hirschberg for writing a piece in 1992 where it was claimed that she shot up the dragon chasing nectar while she was knocked up with Frances Bean. Courtney shed cokey tears of fury and hollered out that she'd never forgive Lynn for this! And then a horse fly flew by and Court thought she saw a recording device strapped to its little wing and so she chased it around the room while screaming that the FBI is not going to catch her this time! And then Court heard a sound outside of her house and ran out the door with a fireplace poker in her hand, thinking she was going to find a thief carving the words "Property of Fraudy McFraudster" on the side of her townhouse in an effort to steal it. And then when Court came back inside, she mistook a floor lamp in the corner for a beautiful man billionaire and snapped at her assistant to check the Yellow Pages for a 24-hour shaman that can marry them right away. What I'm getting at is that the crack ate Courtney's memory of being mad at Vanity Fair, because here she is giving them an interview!

Court called up Vanity Fair after she read a piece Nancy Jo Sales wrote on The Quacked Out Quaids' accusations of fraud and other crazy shit. Court thought Nancy Jo could help her find out what happened to the $250 million of Nirvana's money that she claims someone stole (you know, because it's not like the money ground itself into a fine powder and leaped up into her nose holes). Court talked about "the fraud" and then showed Nancy Jo a page from Frances Bean's old diary, because she's a wonderful and thoughtful mother like that.

On why Frances Bean's diary isn't about HER HER HER HER HER!: “This is her diary,” Love explains. “I just want you to look at this one page,” which contains a list titled, “Things That Make Me Smile.” Love, distraught, asks Sales, “Why am I not on it? Why doesn’t she put ‘watching old movies with my mom’?”

On how Frances Bean quit the crazy 2 years ago and the crazy misses her: “All I can feel is how much I love her,” Love tells Sales. “I’d give anything to hear the sound of her heels walking down the hall past my bedroom.”

On why Frances Bean needed Hooked on Phonics as a second grader: “It was my fault! I never read to her! ... Why didn’t I ever take her to a Broadway show? She fucking loved those Broadway musicals!” There were times when, Love says, her daughter was teased by other children; “They called her ‘crack baby.’”

On how her and Kurt Cobain's money kept magically disappearing: “We could never find our money!” she says. “We had $135,000 in our bank account. They said that if he would go do Lollapalooza he would make $11 million… Do you think Kurt would have killed himself if he had known he had $54 million?”

On if she's mad at Kurt for doing suicides to himself: “Mad? Ya think?! If he came back right now I’d have to kill him, for what he did to us. I’d fucking kill him. I’d fuck him, and then I’d kill him."

The second to the last quote was brought to you by The Crazy Crackie School Of Mathematics, because only in the gutters of Courtney's brain does $135,000 + $11 million = $54 million.

Oh, and Court, don't you mean kill him again.....:

That trembling in your eye veins could only mean one thing: it's Courtney Love! But you can tell your veins to settle down, because this post does not feature one of Courtney's signature cracklatin-written Twitter rants that makes your monitor melt and your brain go into sleep mode. It's just a regular picture post of Courtney Love at some book party event in NYC last night with some people who go to book party events.

I'm going to give Court some credit, because she actually looks like she didn't put up a fight when the good hos at the health department gave her a monthly court-appointed bath in ammonia and Silkwood bath gel. So I'll give her that. But bitch needs to press pause on whatever kind of nip and pull shit she's doing to her face. Ho has got the Liza Minnellis. It's like her eyeballs are tired of the SUCIO shit her head is showing them so they are trying to slowly quit that bitch by sneaking out the side exit. If they get any further apart, she can wear them as earrings.

Bitch kind of looks like one of those bulging eye guppies. I just want to throw fish flakes at her and knock on the glass in front of her even though the sign on her aquarium tells me not to.

According to Showbiz Spy, the lovely, petite, not-bloated-and-saggy-at-all flower known as Courtney Love has been unceremoniously plucked from the garden of Henry Allsopp (godson of Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall) while she was trying to get her roots on. The source says she moved in with him last November after they'd been slobbering on each other for about a month, but his family freaked the hell out so he Weed-Be-Gone'd that bitch.

I can't imagine why the royal family would not welcome the eternally elegant Courtney with open arms, but alas the title of Lady Love eludes her. She said that “These days I’m only interested in plutocrats,” which makes sense because you know there are SO many billionaires who would love to put a fresh daisy like Court in their lapel. You fluff up those petals and go, girl!

Just like what happens to my brain nodules whenever I read a Courtney Love Tweet without making the sign of the cross first, her bedroom curtains caught on fire early this morning at her rented NYC townhouse in the West Village. Courtney could've easily made the fire put itself out if she blew more conspiracy theories about how the Sultan of Brunei (or whoever) spiked her coke with tiny wire taps and is now reading her thoughts, but she didn't do that.

Courtney, who is dedicated to being as messy as messy lets her be, tried to put the fire out with her hands! Don't worry the Oxycontin turns her hands into wet plastic noodles with no feelings, so it didn't hurt! A spokesperson for the New York City Fire Department said this about the fire to Radar:

"We can confirm that we attended a small fire at the location and the curtains were on fire. The owner had burns to her hands and refused medical treatment.

The fire was on the 4th floor of the building and the call-out time was logged at 1.52am.”

There really is a reasonable explanation for this! This is what happened. Using the makeshift meth lab (a faulty hot plate and an old Jiffy Pop tin) she set up in her bedroom, Courtney was melting a block of hard raccoon blood to use as ink to write a heartfelt (see: threatening) letter to Frances Bean on a sheet of gas-soaked human skin when Billy Corgan's face appeared in the curtains, causing her to jump and knock everything over. Boom! Fire!

Or maybe her aim is off and she lit the curtain instead of the crack pipe. That seems more accurate.