Dumbasses

This video of a gay exorcism of a 16-year-old boy has been making the rounds for a couple of weeks, but I saw it for the first time yesterday on the news. It's all sorts of fucked up. The Manifested Glory Ministries Church of Bridgeport, Connecticut posted the 20-minute long video on YouTube, but quickly yanked it off after it created a ton of controversy (go fucking figure).

In the video, the kid is seen writhing on the floor as the pastor summons the "gay demon" out of him by shouting shit like, “Rip it from his throat! Come on, you homosexual demon! You homosexual spirit, we call you out right now! Loose your grip, Lucifer! Come out of his belly...It's in the belly - push.”

It's kind of ironic that bitches have shouted the same shit at me during homosexual exercises.

Do these crazies really think they are going to get the "gay demon" out by shouting that dark-sided stuff at it? Stupid fucks! They have to tell it that it looks hot in skinny jeans. They have to bring it the AbFab box set. Woo it a little. But seriously....

They need to leave that kid alone and try to drive the gayness out of my body instead! Come at me, bitches! We'd be there for days, weeks, months, years. Trust me, it's not going anywhere. They would probably drop dead from exhaustion or hunger while I just sit there shaking my head while saying, "Nope." Saying shit like "Rip it from his throat," will only make me crave ze cock even more. They'd probably throw up their arms and finally say, "Fuckit. Let's go get Sex on the Beaches at the local gay bar." That is a battle they will lose.

Source: LA Times (Thanks Kevin)

Most of us spelled "BITCH, PLEASE" with our eye rolls when we first read about the sad tale of 18-year-old Kimberley Vlaminck and the 56 star tattoos on her face. Originally, Kimberley blamed the tattoo artist for the public display of fugness on her mug, because she claims she only wanted 3 stars and fell asleep while he was stabbing her in the face with a needle. Well, don't go pee pee in your pants out of shock, but Kimberley is now saying that she lied about the whole thing.

Kimberley told a Dutch TV station that this is what she wanted all along and was awake the whole time. Kimberley's nipples did the happy dance when she first saw her face, because she absolutely loved it. But when she got home and felt the wrath of her father, she changed her story. That's when she made up the lie that she fell asleep and that the tattoo artist must have misunderstood what she wanted.

The tattoo artiste says there's no hard feelings and he doesn't regret the dumb bitch's lie, because it's given him some publicity.

This ho needs to be tried and convicted in the Court of Dumb Bitches, because her lie was as believable as the claim that Brooke Hogan is a biological female. Do better, bitch! It would have been more believable if Kimberley said that a dozen unicorns pranced out of RPattz's magical forest hair, formed a circle jerk on her head and then busted sparkly stars all over her face.

You know, bitch has already been convicted. Her punishment is that she'll have to live the rest of her life with permanent birthday card confetti on her face. Fuck, I hate birthday card confetti.

You know how sometimes when you're passed out drunk your friends (or in my case, your own mother) will write words like "DRUNK, WHORE, SKANK, PEEN SUCKER" all over your face? Well, 18-year-old Kimberley Vlaminck of Belgium claims that's what happened to her (sort-of). Except the fresh graffiti on her face wasn't from a Sharpie and couldn't be washed off with water or even hot gasoline. This fugness is pretty much permanent!

Kimmy tells the Daily Mail that she paid a Romanian tattoo artist £55 to decorate her face with only three stars. Kimmy, who might have the worst case of narcolepsy ever, says she fell asleep while the dude had a sharp needle on her face and woke up covered in STARZ. 56 stars to be exact.

Kimmy is suing the tattoo artist for £8,500, because that's how much it's going to cost to get them all removed. Kimmy says that she told him she only wanted 3 stars in English and French, but he must have misunderstood her. The tattoo artist says that Kimmy is made of lies, because she specifically asked for 56 stars. He said she was awake and even looked at the mirror a few times. He went on to say, "The trouble all started when she went home and her father and boyfriend threw a fit. They are saying things now like I doped her or hypnotized her. What rubbish!" It's safe to say that he's MADDER THAN FISH GREASE.

I've never had a tattoo, but I'm pretty sure that if you had a sharp ass needle right on your bone you wouldn't be skipping through the clouds in dreamland. The stupid bitch got the tattoo and her father threatened to quit her ass over it, so she played dumb.

It's really not that bad either. It kind of looks like her ear is queefing out stars. It's like Glamberace scooted all over her face. Look on the bright side. Or should I say, the "STARZ" side (GONG!!!!).

Kimmy is moaning that she can't leave the house now, "I am so embarrassed. I just look horrible."

Um. I've got news for Kimmy. The star bukkake on her face is less ridiculous than that SEXY belt buckle she's wearing.

Unfortunately, Twit and Twat did not get mauled by cannibal monkeys in Costa Rica. They are back in the states. But fortunately for us, Al Roker interviewed them on Today this morning and he acted like he would rather have been getting a prostate exam from this dude's hand. When Al Roker doesn't even want to breath the same air as you, you know it's time to retire to the nearest roach motel. I bet you if Twit and Twat were covered in powdered sugar and melted butter, Al still wouldn't want to get near them. That's serious.

The flesh-colored dick bush and his pony wife didn't miss a beat and immediately called into Ryan Gaycrest's KIIS-FM radio show to bitch about their treatment. Twatty told Ryan, "I'm still trying to figure out, was the weatherman asking us questions? I thought we were getting interviewed by Matt Lauer or something."

Heidi added, "I was shocked at how rude he was - I was crying afterwards because I couldn't believe I felt personally attacked. I wanted to say to him, do you feel proud of how you're talking to me right now? I'm just a young woman and you're coming at me so aggressively and meanly and mean-spirited. I really would advise women especially to be careful around him because I feel like he definitely came and attacked me and I did not appreciate that at all."

Cheeseburgers should be especially careful around Al Roker, but not women.

This is probably the only time in the history of ever that I actually liked Al Roker. Who knew that two queef bubbles would make that happen?

Let me take that back. This isn't the first time I felt a like in my no-heart for Al. This was the first time:

Sometimes when you're out boozing, one cocktail leads to another, which leads to a dozen more, which leads to you needing to go to the emergency room. You can't say you've really partied until you've walked out of an ER with dried up vomit all over your clothes and one less vital organ in your body. This is what happened to John Mayer's friend, Rob from MTV's Rob & Big, this past Saturday in L.A. That's what you get when you mix douchewater and Henny.

John had to drag Rob out of club MyHouse and shuttle his ass to the emergency room, because dude got the drunks in a serious way. A few hours later, John announced on his Twatter that Rob was going to live: "In triage at Cedars with @robdyrdek. When the contents of his stomach hit that silicon bag and we all saw it, we just broke into appluse."

Appluse is douchetardian for "applause." In case you were wondering.

John is really a true friend for taking his drunk as fuck friend to the emergency room and then clapping when Rob's Alize and ribs-scented barf hit the bag. That's what any good friend would do, but not every good drunk would agree to go. The last time a friend wanted to make to the hospital, I responded with, "Fuck that! I don't have insurance, bitch! Take me to McDonald's instead." Eating a Filet-O-Fish while suffering from the drunk dry heaves is the quickest way to induce vomiting. Tried and tested. Trust this!

Tuck your pussies in and grab your Valtrex, because we are all getting on the Rock of Love WAAAAAHMBULANCE.

Right after the hottest piece of scenery in the industry knocked Bret Michaels on his nasty ass at the Tony Awards, he sort of shrugged it off and said it really wasn't a big deal. Now that he's realized he can milk the shit out of this situation for attention, he's crying a different story. Bret posted these pictures of his busted face on his MySpace along with a total STFU statement.

While we are clapping for whoever was responsible for bringing that set piece down on Bret, he's blaming them. Bret said that he was never "informed that the descending set piece existed, let alone would be moving into position as he was exiting the stage." Bret was also pissed that a rep for the Tony Awards said Bret had missed his mark and that's why he got laid out by a super hot piece of scenery (Is it obvious that I'm love with a set piece?). Bret moaned that the Tony people would have cared more if this happened to Dolly Parton, Liza or Elton John.

I think Bret's weave-danna is on too tight. Liza and Dolly are LEGENDS! If a set piece fell on them, the world would stop and we'd all hold our breaths until we were told there wasn't a scratch on them. Which there wouldn't be, because they are both coated with some kind of scratch-proof substance.

Bret added that he doesn't know how bad his injuries are until his x-rays come back. He must have gone to some back alley free clinic where it takes weeks for x-rays to be processed. Their idea of an x-ray is shining a really bright flash night on his injuries while some crackhead draws a picture of it with a Sharpie. Stupid ass.

Bret is such a wittle baby. The whores on Rock of Love who attempt to eat his asshole probably suffer worse injuries than that. Put a bag over your head and stop whining.

I love how even though he's busted up he's still giving us a "Sexy Can I?" face.

VIA TMZ

Jeremy Piven is in NYC to continue arbitration with the producers of Speed of the Plow. The producers want Piven to pay up for abruptly bouncing out of the show causing ticket sales to dive. Piven cried "mercury poisoning", because he claims he ate too much sushi. (Insert Pig Pen pussy joke here).

The producers think something in the milk ain't clean about that whole mercury poisoning crap, but it's a serious matter for Piven. Piven told Michigan Avenue Magazine (via Page Six) that the real truth about the dangers of mercury will soon be revealed, "The Obama administration came out and said the No. 1 chemical problem in the world is mercury . . . there will be a lot of documentaries coming out showing what happens when you have too much mercury in your system." Then Piven joked, "It sounds like some crazy rich man's disease."

Maybe Piven had a little mercury poisoning, but the real reason why he quit that bitch had to do with the permanent case of douche flu he suffers from. And the cokey-litis he comes down with every now and again didn't help matters.

It's like when a dumb ho calls in sick to work and you know they are really just going to the beach to sun their nalgas. Then they come in the next day whining about how they were on death's door. You try not to slap their ass while staring at their new natural blonde highlights and sunburn. Piven, I can see your new highlights and sunburn. Just stop!

SPOILER ALERT: The "dumb ho" was me.

While MiserAlba was in Oklahoma City shooting The Killer Inside Me, she decided to spend her off hours saving the sharks by fucking up other people's property! You know, because it's widely known that Oklahoma City is a popular summer vacation spots for sharks.

The Lost Ogle says that last week MiserAlba pasted shark posters all over Downtown Oklahoma City as a way to raise awareness to the shrinking population of Great Whites. The problem is that there was no kind of information on the poster. It's just a poster of a Great White that she probably bought at the swap meet. This looks more like a gorilla marketing campaign for Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus. Now that would've been brilliant.

There's also another problem. MiserAlba covered up a billboard for United Way. The United Way told TMZ that they will probably have to pay to get the billboard replaced.

My favorite part is how she looks all proud of herself! She's like "Yay me!" I mean, she's even SMILING really big. She probably bought herself a cupcake afterwards for a job well done. And don't even accuse MiserAlba of not knowing anything about sharks. She was in Into the Blue after all and there were sharks in that movie. Duh.

You know the sharks are down in the ocean pasting posters of MiserAlba's angry face with the text, "You aren't helping" written on it.

UPDATE: MiserAlba issued an "I'm sowwy" statement to TMZ, but she kind of just blamed the shark people for leading her to vandalism: "I got involved in something I should have had no part of. I realize that I should have used better judgment and I regret not thinking things through before I made spontaneous and ill-advised decision to let myself get involved with the people behind this campaign. I sincerely apologize to the citizens of Oklahoma City and to the United Way for my involvement in this incident."

When Phil Spector was stuffed into a prison cell to serve 19 years for killing Lana Clarkson, he left behind his 28-year-old (don't choke) wife of 3 years Rachelle. During the trial, Rachelle wasn't allowed to whore herself out to the media, but now that it's over she can barf words from her mouth all she wants! Rachelle's first stop was the Los Angeles Times. Even though Rachelle loves to show off the 9-carat diamond ring on her finger, she wants the world to know that she's not a gold miner. Nope, she married Phil for *love*. Gag me with a fucking crimping iron.

Rachelle said that if she was a gold digger, she wouldn't be visiting Phil in prison any chance she could and she also wouldn't be licking on his soggy worm dick as much as she used to. Rachelle said, "We had sex. We were doing it all the time." Maybe that would explain why Rachelle looks like a middle-aged truck stop pussy peddler who has had more troll crotch on her ass than a horse at the Kentucky Derby. Not to mention that her eyebrows also look like they've been traumatized by the whole experience.

Rachelle also went on to say that she's not just with Phil for his coin, because she can easily support herself if she needed, "I can weed whack. Rip out walls. Lay tile." Obviously, she can't weed whack for shit, because look at her husband's hair.

Proving that she's just as gross as her husband, Rachelle says that living in the house that Lana died in doesn't bother her. Rachelle and Phil even got married in the same foyer Lane's body was found. Rachelle even sits in the chair Lana bled to death in. It doesn't bother her.

But what does bother her is that her gnome of a husband has been locked in a tiny cell for 24 hours of the day. Rachelle moaned, "He's locked in a 5-by-9 cell, 23 1/2 hours a day. They treat people worse than animals. I want that known." And I want it known that you are not a certified member of the Gold Diggers Club, but I'm sure the Dumb Stupid Skank Bitch Whore Club will gladly accept you. Their club president, Paris Hilton, will be contacting you any day now.

Seriously, crying about a 5-by-9 cell? That's bigger than most NYC apartments!

Before LeAnn Rimes goes to bed at night, she pops the cum bubble from her husband's ass, then she goes into her garage, lights the candles around her Eddie Cibrian altar and sings a haunting acoustic version of "How Do I Live Without You? (Your Wife Must Die)" while sticking hot razors into a Brandi Glanville voodoo doll. That's what Eddie Cibrian's wife, Brandi Glanville, is saying. Basically. Brandi told UsWeekly that LeAnn Rimes is obsessed with her husband. I didn't see LeAnn Rimes disguised as a pile horse doody just to get close to the object of her erection, so Brandi needs to re-evaluate her use of the term "obsessed." Moving on....

A couple of months ago, there were rumors going around that LeAnn and Eddie were doing it on the down low. They denied it, but now Brandi is saying that LeAnn is stalking her man. If you see a car with an "Attention: Can I Get Some?" bumper sticker, that's Brandi. Wave hello and shout out the lyrics to "Can't Fight the Moonlight."

Brandi tells Us, "LeAnn is a stalker. She refuses to leave us alone -- it is shameful and scary. People are going to say it takes two to tango and I get that, but at some point LeAnn needs to stop asking him to dance." And by "dance," Brandi means FUCK TILL THE BREAK OF DAWN.

Carry on Brandi... "I'm a happy wife fighting for what I have. LeAnn is so desperate for fame she has left her self-respect in the gutter and doesn't care who she hurts to get what she wants. She's hurting my family and messing with the wrong mom."

LeAnn's spokeswhore did not comment, but a friend of hers snapped his fingers and got all sassy with his response, "Eddie and Brandi are both on the record on this and LeAnn has kept quiet, so what does that tell you about who is after fame and press?"

What I'm hearing is that Eddie did light up LeAnn's vagina at least one time and she just can't let go of the peen. Instead of putting on her money-handling gloves and taking as much coin from Eddie as she can, Brandi's off blabbing to a tabloid. Yeah, Eddie might not have much bacon in the bank, but that's not the point. Brandi is fighting the wrong battle. She should be working on taking the cash and cashing the check!