If last night's Real Housewives of Atlanta left an impression on any of you guys, you are certainly not alone!
"Loy-yuh to the stars" and aspiring funeral home owner Ms. Phaedra 'Eeeeeverybody knows..." Parks gave prolific songwriter Kandi Burruss one helluva 35th burfday present: a self-fellating stripper named "RiDICKulous."...
I didn't even know this was legal on basic cable. Can you imagine how agile the Bravo graphics dude must be to follow that schlong with the long, black censor in editing?? Poor guy probably got whiplash.
And whomever "RiDICKulous" schplunks must need one amazing reconstructive surgeon.
I didn't sleep worth a shit last night. I had to view The Real Housewives of Atlanta and Watch What Happens: LiveTWICE after my DVR'ed Meet the Press. (Isn't that sad? I sped right through Meet the Press, then proceeded to watch my Bravo shows TWO times to make sure I had absorbed everything. It hurts even me to type that.) Next, I had to squeeze my pores for an hour or two and de-stress by watching The First Wives Club since seeing J. Edgarat the movie theatre had exhausted all of my more serious emotions. (Go see J. Edgar by the way. Ignore the painful reviews. It is a fantastic film!)
Now, we get to the day at hand. I met Boo for lunch in one of those Stepford-esque, embarrassingly-nouveau neighborhoods with cul-de-sacs named shit like Mountain Vistaview Parkway. You know, the ones that look like the opening credits of Weeds. The only reason I was in that hood was its proximity to Boo's office. Never.Would.I.Ever. go there for personal pleasure.
After dining at the only non-chain in that "community," we got in our respective cars to leave. Then, I spotted a tackily palatial storefront called Ulta Beauty. It looked just like an extension of the homes in the area....but with carts stacked out front like a grocery store. So, I waited for Boo to take off before I scurried on up to secretly investigate.
Not having showered or slept, I looked exactly like Kathy Bates in the "Towanda" parking lot scene in Fried Green Tomatoes. Therefore, I was relieved to have my maiden voyage to Ulta at a locale where I didn't know anyone else from Adam's house cat.
Once inside, I was floored. How had I never been here before? At first glance, I thought, "Oh!...A low-rent Sephora." But, as I walked down the Neutrogena aisle, I spotted a Peter Thomas Roth and Mario Badescu aisle providing the perfect juxtaposition. I knew I was in for a fantastic early-afternoon. Vaseline next to La Mer? Who is the GENIUS behind this?! Walking into a toiletries-only store is to me what walking into the Mother Ship was to E.T. in 1982.
Walking up and down the aisles in giddy lethargy, I threw some useless Art of Shaving crap, shampoo, lotion, cotton pads, and astringent into my cart. "Wow," I thought. "If this is fun for me as a male, just imagine how amazing this is for the lay-deez!"
Then, I saw it. It was bound to happen. That bitch is everywhere! I saw this severely unattractive obese woman scouring through the hair extensions. I can smell it. (No, not the stench of sweaty fat people fighting for the latest big-screen on the Wal-Mart electronics aisle.) I know she's somewhere up in this place. I remember her stupid-as-shit edible body products from her heyday that have obviously since failed. (Can you imagine running away from a beehive with frosting and sprinkles all over your skin??) ..........like a piranha....no, JAWS, I was hot on the trail....
NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THERE SHE IS!! Speaking of running from beehives. The fat lady was putting one in her cart. AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Obviously this monstrosity-of-a-human wants assistance with her own back-combed HotTrannyMess of a beehive.
JESSICA'S NOW IN THE BUMP-IT BID'NESS, TOO!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I threw my cart against the wall, ran screaming to my car.. and sped straight home for my laptop. Did not pass "Go." Did not collect $200. AREN'T YOUR HOOKER HEELS ENOUGH, JESSICA?!
Apparently not. As soon as I got home, I discovered 'Ol Fatty Fatty Two-By-Four is reportedly in talks for a $4 million deal with Weight Watchers. Apparently, Jessica will have to lose "a significant amount of weight" over the course of a year following the birth of her child...and keep it off. If anyone is going to fuck up getting paid millions to do what is supposed to be her only job any way--to look pretty--it is Jessica Simpson. (Tell me about that singing thing? Tell me about that ACTING thing?!)
New 'hooker heel money' aside, this hussy could have used some motivation quite some time ago. ..And after all those years of hearing her talk about her virginity. ..How she was saving herself for marriage. ..How she was "too pretty" for the Christian Music scene. ..How she grew up poor, and would "borrow" clothes from the mall, keep the tags on, and return the clothes. ..How Jesus told her that she was supposed to change the world with her voice. Pssssssh. Please.
Well, now she is a fat baby mama with a hooker heel and bump-it fortune who can't sing for shit. Looks like she has done a complete 180, and gotten everything she ever wanted!
I thought I got out of the process almost unscathed. But then I had to look into Frisco's eyes. He judged, and he was ashamed for me. He just stared at me disappointingly all day. For going to Ulta. For wasting so much time writing about someone as lame as Jessica Simpson.
"Papa Joe should be able to handle all that shit, loser." said Frisco's eyes.
Editor's note: I knew that Jessica & her "mane gay"/former "main gay" Ken came out with hair extensions back when she was thin, but I never knew they jumped on the bump-it craze. I was shocked. But not THAT shocked. What is TRULY shocking to me, however, came upon me as I was driving home for Thanksgiving. On "shuffle," my iPod came across a little song from a decade ago that I almost forgot about. And it is by Jessica Simpson. And it is actually good. What the FUCK happened to her voice? She sounds awesome. I'll leave you with BY FAR her best song. Clearly off her first album. Before she could fuck anything up because her singing was being controlled by Tommy Mottola. Bravo!
Let me introduce you to my l'il man, Frisco. He packs a massive amount of P.I.M.P. into his not-so-gargantuan 17 pounds.
With one look, this nugget can get whatever he wants. I mean, look at that face. Good breedin', baby!
Whether he is chasin' tail...
..or gettin' tail..
...he will always do whatever it takes to get by. And he doesn't even have to try.
Frisco has taught me that looks do matter. I mean, not even Huey Lewis or Billy Zabka could skirt through life as suave as this pup. Now that you've met my sidekick, it's time to get down to bid'ness.
It's all an act. Behind closed doors, Frisco is perfect. And I mean that. Obedient enough to feel like he is your charge. Sneaky enough to have an enviable dose of personality. I grew up with naughty, naughty dogs. Frisco just came out ready to please, but he loves to go on his own adventures.
The "Larry David Moment" entered the pop culture lexicon over a decade ago. For most, there really is no better way to describe those everyday awkward occurrences. You are either taping an episode of Seinfeld... or the Curb Your Enthusiasm crew has just got to be one pace behind you. No other option, right? The "Frisco Moment" is exactly the same...because he is always around for the "WTF?".
I have found myself experiencing these every day with my buddy. Whenever we are going about our business, crazy shit just always goes down. Then he looks at me like, "Did this seriously just happen, Odie?!" (Yeah...I forgot to say....Odie is what he calls me.)
Frisco plans to be an occasional contributor here at WWA. Wherever I go, he goes...so we just decided that working together was the next logical step.
(Editor's Note: Frisco's name comes from the location of the original Southfork Ranch.. where the first season of Dallas was filmed in Frisco, Texas.)
As Goldie Hawn (aka "Elise Elliot") says in The First Wives Club, "I get my best ideas when I work out."
Okay, okay....some who know me may be playing the Bette "Brenda Cushman" Midler, saying "You get ideas?" But really, the more appropriate question should be, "You work out?" Yeah, motherfuckers! 2 days in a row now!
("...[working out] burns off the booze....it clears my head. -Elise Elliot)
If I am going to keep up the whole fitness thing, I am going to have to play games with myself. So, I have developed excruciatingly complex playlists in an attempt to keep myself interested. I decided I would consciously take on different personas for each track. Today was my first day testing this out. Playlist on shuffle. Here we go.
Track 1: Too $hort's "Blowjob Betty"
So...I am thinking how random this is. I mean...couldn't we start off with Kenny Loggins' "Danger Zone" or something more obviously energy-inducing? Naaaahhhh...gotta play the role. Remember, Phil....you are a "gangsta'" rapper. So, I just took the track as my cue to take it chill and do a mild warm-up. Role complete with a poseur-gangsta' head nod from my blonde-haired self to each person who passed my treadmill.
Shuffle...
Track 2: Michael Bolton's "Time Love & Tenderness"
Accelerating to a faster pace, I decided I would work early-'90s hard for that 4 minutes and 17 seconds....then NOT have a heaping plate of pasta as my post-gym reward. Early-'90s work ethic. 2011 sensibilities. OMG. This is amazing! Also....my hair is a bit unruly in the back right now...so I pretended I had the Bolton mullet partying back there as my shoes pounded that treadmill. The fresh-sounding treble is key with the jams of that era. Amazing.
Shuffle...
Track 3: Britney Spears' "Stronger"
Praise Jesus! Now we're talkin'! I pictured her in the music video...and in her stellarly slutty live performance of the jam at the 2001 American Music Awards. Britney was nearing her peak of hotness, Justin was still nailing her poseur-virgin ass, and she had abs of steel from 2000-2002. It doesn't get more perfect.
I started to get a little too into the female empowerment message. Did I still have a penis? For the next three-and-a-half minutes, who cares? You are playing Britney Spears playing she is "stronger than yesterday." Now it's nothin' but my way, bitches! Weave flailing in the fan-induced breeze. I didn't notice anyone other than myself. Me! M.E.!! I am all that matters!
...until I heard the 2 new dads talking loudly beside me. Now what one of the dudes said is one of my biggest pet peeves. One of my biggest pet peeves EVER.
Dude 1: "How are Cynthia and little Joe doing? He's 6 months now, right? My little Clarissa is 8 months."
Dude 2: "Yeah....Joe is getting big. He is 6 months old. I've gotta get home soon to babysit. Cynthia's gotta...."
Hold. The. Motherfucking. Phone. Did I just hear him say he has to get home to "babysit??????" HIS OWN CHILD?! Britney/"Stronger"/FemaleEmpowerment intervention time!
As I tear off my headphones....
"Excuse me?? Did you just say you needed to get home to babysit your own child? BABYSIT?! Really? It is YOUR fucking child, too, asshole. Unless your wife diddled the gardener Eva Longoria-circa-'04-'05-style, then it is clearly your child. Get your ass home, and tell your wife what you just said. Unless she has battered wife syndrome, she'll let you know what is wrong with that statement."
Woah. I surprised even myself with that level of intensity. Too much estrogen from the shuffle-induced song choice? Maybe. But...it got the job done. I was STRONGER! As I grabbed my iPod, I remembered there was one more thing that REALLY bothered me about that situation...
"'Big Joe's friend'...whatever your name is?.. How on EARTH could you name your poor little daughter Clarissa? CLARISSA?!?! This is not 1991, Melissa Joan Hart is no longer cool, and Salute Your Shortsis not coming on next."
[Editor's note: Needless to say, I jogged home as Kenny Loggins circa Caddyshack 2.]
Goodness gracious, fools! She ain't just Samantha Jones from Sex and the City. In the 1990s, I was the only one who seemed to miss Kim Cattrall.
She had been the "80s-hot" girl in a number of panned flicks that became cult classics. Who could forget her as the horny P.E. teacher, Miss Honeywell aka "Lassie", in Porky's?
Cadet Karen Thompson in Police Academy? I mean...classics. The list goes on! Gracie in Big Trouble in Little China. And....drumroll, please.......the mannequin Emmy in the original Mannequin! Some call it one of the worst films of all time. BOLLOCKS! That's a fucking classic. Damn, I love this woman! She is as camp as camp gets! Just as classic as Mannequin is its theme song, Starship's "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now."
Then came her 1990 Razzie-nominated performance as the annoying-as-all-get-out Judy McCoy in the critically-derided (but loved by me) Brian DePalma film version of Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities. She was burnt toast. In fact, I don't even think she popped up again until what I consider the creepiest film of all time. I am terrified to even discuss it, and will not be linking it here. It is called Above Suspicion. Look it up on your own time.
A few more years went by, and then came Kim Cattrall's Golden Globe-winning Sex and the City magnum opus: Samantha Jones.
I mean...let's be honest. Samantha Jones was not much of a stretch for Cattrall. She built her entire career on playing very....ummmm.....sexually-awakened women. What was so refreshing about Samantha Jones is that it allowed Cattrall to show her unique range. Who else can look sexy, shoot scenes that are essentially "Skinemax softcore," and be simultaneously hysterical. Let's be real. If there was an episode (or one of the films) that was failing or had a large dry spell, Miss Kim was undoubtedly the comic relief. Even my father, who is in his 70s and typically has no interest in such female-driven fare, LOVESSex and the City and its corresponding films simply because of Samantha Jones.
But, LAWWWWWWDY, did she ever take that Samantha Jones schtick and run with it. I am sure she had worked her whole life to gain that kind of notoriety, but goodness gracious! Kim Cattrall has been confusing the shit out of us for over a decade now. Where does Samantha Jones end and Kim Cattrall begin. She has hawked that over-40 (and over-50) ho thing till her vagina must have fallen off onto the asphault in a hot bologna-like melange.
We've seen it all: Too little; too big; frustrated; fantastic; funny. All involving penetration.
And it didn't stop there. Kim Cattrall released sex book...
..after sex book.
Her poor lady mess must feel like "The Burning Bush." (Dear God, please forgive me for Bible references here.)
And then Kim-as-Samantha-dom continued through the Sex and the City theatrical films. The puns got REALLY annoying in the second film. And I mean.....REALLLLLLY annoying. That is one bad fucking movie. (But obviously I own it..for the scenery and gross stereotyping..and sex puns..and ovaries as dried as Lohan's lungs.)
Were the mass Razzie nominations not bad enough to want to branch out? The stuff-me-like-a-turkey role choices continued. In 2010 (The same year as the horrendous SATC2), she starred in a film called Meet Veronica Velour. Natch, she played a past-her-prime porn star.
Have we seen enough yet? NOPE! We still get to see those "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" ads every.fucking.day.
GEEEEEEEZUS CHRIST! We get it! You look marvelous for 55, you're still as horny as a teenage hooker, you surround yourself with 28-year-old male models, and you know how to talk about fake butter as if it were the lubricant of choice for your sun-dried tomato.
Please, make it stop!
ALAS! We have arrived! Kim Cattrall is headed to Broadway...in a REAL role!
"Kim Cattrall reaches a new stage in life [with Private Lives]," heralds USA Today! As the leading lady in the new Broadway revival of Noel Coward's classic, Cattrall inherits a role once played by iconic actresses Dame Maggie Smith, Gertrude Lawrence, and Dame Elizabeth Taylor.
Often referred to as one of the original romantic comedies, Private Lives is a 1930s Oscar Wilde-like "comedy of manners" written by Noel Coward. It focuses on a divorced couple who discover that they are honeymooning with their respective new spouses while in adjoining rooms. Naturally, fun ensues...but I won't spoil it! Kim brings this new role to New York after her very successful run with it on London's West End.
I beg you, Ms. Catrall, to not insert your own innuendo. Excitingly, you still get to play a free spirit. However, let's keep the vapid randiness to a minimum. Proud of ya'...gurrl!
(She may be dressed demurely for her, but the Associated Press and New York Daily News report Cattrall was rockin' some leopard print Loubs on her tootsies at this reception for her new role. Samantha just may always have the last word!)
Private Lives opens at Broadway's Music Box Theatre tomorrow, November 17th. Purchase your tickets here!
(Editor's note: Whatever. You'll always be Mannequin to me!)
****Please note Meshach Taylor aka Designing Women's "unfortunately incarcerated" Anthony Bouvier as the minister. How legit!****
While the 'nature vs. nurture' debate regarding sexuality persists with fervor, a Welsh rugby player claims that a stroke made him gay. Ummmm.....cool?
As Britain's Daily Mail reports, 26-year-old Chris Burch was trying to show off to his friends at the gym. No, no. He wasn't picking up soap in the showers.. or running around in only his jock strap. He was trying to demonstrate his physical prowess with a back flip while working out, but broke his neck. This resulted in a stroke. When he gained consciousness after being rushed to the hospital, Birch claims his personality had completely changed. "It sounds strange, but when I came round I felt completely different," said Birch.
According to The Mirror, he was just a sports-loving Average Joe. He worked at a bank, was in the midst of planning a wedding with the girl he loved, and "spent his average Saturday watching football with his mates with a pint and a packet of crisps."
When he regained consciousness, Birch claimed he had become gay. He first noticed the change while watching a handsome actor on television. "I felt my stomach flutter and the same feelings I used to have for pretty girls came across me," said Birch. "I had never felt like that about a man before, but i knew immediately what the feeling was. I fancied him."
Birch says that he no longer had any interest in sports, and had little in common with his old friends. “When I look at pictures of myself from before the stroke I look like a different person,” he says. “And I know my family feels the same. I’m nothing like the old Chris now.”
Birch quickly began changing his looks. He lost weight, and began dressing differently. Though he returned to his job at the bank for a little while, he was not happy. He quit his job, enrolled in cosmetology school, and started working in a hair salon. According to the Daily Mail, Birch now lives above the salon with his 19-year-old partner, Jack Powell.
The experts seem split. Birch's neurologist told him the changes in his personality could be from the stroke "opening up" a different part of his brain. Joe Korner, director of communications for The Stroke Association in the U.K., told CBS News that he has never personally heard of a stroke changing one's sexuality, but he has no doubt that the stroke has had an impact on Birch's life. Korner said:
"Strokes are traumatic, life-changing experiences, which can make you reassess life and your feelings so perhaps that's the reason behind it. Whether or not the stroke turned Chris gay, or whether he was gay anyway but unaware of it, his experience seems to be a positive one, which is great."
Excuse? Legit? Complete horse shit? I personally think it could just be the best way he could break it to his conservative-seeming family that he wantedto open a Truvy's franchise in Wales.
If you aren't watching, you should. It is full of those key "A-ha" moments, and it will make you feel pretty damn good about yourself. Especially the horrendous woman I just saw on the most recent episode.
I just started watching Oprah's Lifeclass, and I will not be stopping soon. It fills the hole that was left when she supposedly "left the airwaves" earlier this year. I think we all knew that Lady O couldn't stay away from the airwaves. C'mon, she knows we need her! A network bearing her name is simply not enough.
I have to get a few things straight here. This is virgin Oprah territory on WWA, and I need to make myself very clear. The world is divided into two distinct groups of people: (1) Those who are willing to burn the Oprah bridge for the sake of a laugh, and (2) Those who are terrified to ever be on her bad side. I am most certainly in the latter camp. So, for the record, anything I say about Oprah is with the intention of putting her on as a high a pedestal as possible. (Love ya'...gurrl!) I will say anything about anyone.....except for Oprah Winfrey.
I ain't skerred to make fun of some of her guests, though. Considering she has had some of the worst human beings on the planet on her show (rapists, kid fuckers, murderers, bestiality fiends, skinheads, etc...) and even gave one of the worst people on the planet (Rosie O'Donnell) her own show, I assume this will not make Oprah mad. Please let that be the case.
Now we get to what I just witnessed. On the most recent episode of Oprah's Lifeclass, we have the #HotTrannyMess who shopped her family broke. Actually...way less than broke. This bitch is a stay-at-home mother of six (S-I-X!) children who spends more than three times her husband's salary every month.
You would think feeding those kids may be the cause of the financial turmoil. No, no. She doesn't even have health insurance for any of her children. She does not take them to the dentist. In fact, she will not even take her daughter with a tumor on her optic nerve to the doctor for an MRI. Why, you ask? So she can tan every day, get her roots done, get her hair extensions re-applied, get multiple weekly manicures, and buy a brand-new Cadillac Escalade to cart her children around. All of this on her husband's pre-taxed annual income of 80K. Lunatic bitch.
...and then she wants us to feel sorry for her?! "My mom was kind of overbearing, and made me feel like I never did anything right [tears begin flowing]....I have a husband who does the same thing." BOO. FUCKING. HOO.
Lady O does her damndest to briefly assign some sort of pathology to that. I am sorry, but sometimes a diagnosis doesn't matter. That "blonde" is just a whore. Period. The fact she was given a uterus to procreate boggles my mind. There are so many wonderful people out there who would love some chir'rens of their own.
How this huss'bent stays with her is beyond me. (Did I tell you he knew none of this until the show?...Well, apparently this was all news to him.) He needs to steal Chaz Bono's 'Made in China" balls, and superglue them to his vagina.
Ms. Winfrey finishes the segment with sound advice: "Anybody pretending to be anything other than who you are...You will never, ever reach your full potential." Love. Her.
PS: Doesn't that worse-mother-than-Joan-Crawford woman look exactly like Lizzie Grubman??
[images via: (1) OWN, The Oprah Winfrey Network; (2) O: The Oprah Magazine; (3) goodbye2000s.typepad.com]
In less than a week, my definitive example of perfection Lisa Vanderpump, has decided to release a single AND a book. I can't imagine that Villa Blanca and Sur will always pay the electric bill at Chez Vanderpump, so I am glad homegirl is branching out.
I may or may not have pre-ordered the book on Amazon, and just gotten my shipment confirmation. My only dilemma is shelf appeal. Is this too silly to have on a highly-visible kitchen shelf? Only time will tell whether it sits alongside my coffee table greats...or is relegated to the hidden shelf that currently houses the unread Living Well With Anxiety and How to be Famous by Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag. (The latter was purchased as a joke that none of my friends took that way...so I hid it. But I didn't burn it.)
I am a psychic. Actually, not really. I just know this woman cannot help herself.
The moment there were unsubstantiated claims in Politico that Republican primary frontrunner Herman Cain may have sexually harassed three not-ready-to-talk women while at the helm of the National Restaurant Association, I knew Gloria Allred would be holding a press conference in our faces with some bleach-blonde slag as soon as she could dig one up!
For any of you feminists out there, hold the presses. I am not a chauvinist who is saying that a true victim is a hooker. Rather, I am saying: (1) If you seek press attention for fondle-related scandals, you are a ho. (2) If you hire Gloria Allred, you are most certainly a ho.
Sharon Bialek, a Chicago-based "blonde," alleged on Monday that Herman Cain groped her in a sexually aggressive way when she sought his advice after losing her job at the National Restaurant Association in the late 1990s. As quickly as Bialek could go get her roots done, Allred had a glossy press conference lined-up for them. (I say "them" only because....let's be honest.....it's always about Gloria, too.)
Bialek became the first woman to publicly accuse the presidential candidate of sexual harassment, saying she wants to "give a voice" to other women who may have been treated inappropriately by Cain. "I want you, Mr. Cain, to come clean," Bialek told a full house during the news conference held at Manhattan's Friar's Club.
I am not saying that Bialek is without merit, but I am also not saying she is credible. Who really knows? With Gloria Allred's elegant list of clientele, it doesn't really matter to me. You are written off immediately when you hire that bulldog-in-lipstick to pimp you out. (Did she bring you a pre-authorized book option from Harper Collins to sweeten the deal, Miss Bialek?)
~~
Dear Sharon:
When I first saw you hawking your "he-touched-my-vagina" story on CNN with the legal world's Dina Lohan on your arm, I was excited at first.
I was not excited by anything rational. No, no. I was excited because I thought you may be related to Blossom's Mayim Bialik. (Not to be forgotten is her sensational tap-dancing and lip-synching in Beaches as the young Bette Midler aka "CC Bloom." To hopefully be forgotten is her appearance on Kirstie Alley's Fat Actress as a grown--and obese--woman.)
Needless to say, I was wrong...unless you changed the spelling of your last name and got one helluva nose job.
If you are truly serious about hiring the woman whose highest-brow client (Hunter Tylo) was suing Aaron Spelling for firing her from Melrose Place as a result of pregnancy, then maybe you truly weren't smart enough to report Mr. Cain for the alleged harassment before the statute of limitations expired?
Gloria Allred's client list is a comical list of who's-who from tawdry skankdom. I mean....fucking hysterically comical. Porn Star "Ginger Lee" from Rep. Anthony Weiner's recent "Weinergate." Rachel Uchitel and Joslyn James from "Tigergate." Amber Frey, the masseuse/mistress from the Laci Peterson trial. And literally every other supposedly "scorned other woman" I can possibly think of.
The bottom line of all of this....girl, is that hiring Gloria Allred is essentially an admission of being an attention-seeking hooker. We just cannot possibly take you seriously. All that bitch wanted to do is use you to hit the talk show circuit. And it worked.
I also question your judgment about choosing to come out with this story at this time. It makes YOU look pretty bad. 14 years later? Seriously. Nevermind the fact it is while Mr. Cain is running for the most prestigious office in the world. Again, I am not saying you are lying. I am just telling you that even if this is for attention, it certainly isn't attention that will get you anywhere a sane person would want to go.
Paula Jones may have gotten a new face, but ask her if it was worth the trouble. (Actually, scratch her. She didn't have shit going on, and she got a chin out of that scandal.) Bless her hillbilly heart. Gennifer Flowers? Ho. How well do you think Monica Lewinsky's handbag line is doing? I mean....Monica Lewinsky. She probably couldn't go to a McDonald's in Europe without being laughed-out of the joint. Much less a cigar bar.
You get the point. Your poor teenage son will be going to college in a few years, and how do you think rush will go for him? ("Hey, dude. Can I grab your mom's vagina?") The bottom line is that, even IF these allegations are true, how on Earth is all of this charade worth it? You were not raped, it is a VERY long time after the fact, and you have a teenage son. Can't turn back now....girl.
Good luck.
Xx Phil
PS: You kind of look like a "Sharon," but I personally think you look like more of a "Bethany."
~~
Presidential hopeful Herman Cain on Jimmy Kimmel Live denying all accusations of sexual harassment.
(Editor's note: I certainly hope you clicked the Blossom and Beaches links. Amaze.)
[images via: (1) businessinsider.com; (2) Micahel Appleton for The New York Times; (3) celebritiesfans.com; (4) mtpundit.com; (5) plasticsurgerybeforeandafter.blogspot.com; (6) sodahead.com]
Ummmm.....and the scream heard at the reading was Kathy Fucking Hilton. Seriously! Psssssshhhhhhhhh. Kathy Hilton managed to insert herself into this extremely high profile verdict reading, and here I am giving her exactly what she wants. Lame.
The jury has reached a decision in the involuntary manslaughter case against Michael Jackson's personal doctor, Houston-based cardiologist Dr. Conrad Murray.
Following 10 hours of deliberation, the jury returned a GUILTY verdict.
During Murray's 23-day trial, prosecutors sought to prove that the doctor was criminally negligent. They called witnesses to testify the use of propofol as a sleep aid was not recommended, and that patients who used it should be continually monitored. According to the prosecution, Murray was out of the room and not watching Jackson’s vital signs at the time of his death.
Attorneys for Murray argued that Jackson gave himself the fatal dose when Murray left Jackson's bedroom. They claimed Jackson was addicted to propofol, and played tapes of a seemingly inebriated Jackson in attempt to substantiate their argument.
The burden of proof in an involuntary manslaughter case is for the prosecution to prove that the defendant acted recklessly, and that the reckless behavior resulted in the death of the possible victim. The jury clearly believes that Dr. Conrad Murray acted recklessly, and that his actions were causative to Michael Jackson's death.
With the entire Jackson clan in attendance for the reading of the verdict, further drama was in the air. My coverage of sentencing to come at that time--Tuesday, Novermber 29th.
Long live the King of Pop.
(Editor's note: Dear Kathy Hilton: Please save your screams for Paris' next verdict reading. Or your potential direct-to-DVD MILF porn title, "One Night In A Dirty Hilton Presidential Suite.")
CBS News announced this morning that longtime 60 Minutes commentator Andy Rooney died in an undisclosed New York City hospital as a result of complications from a minor surgical procedure. He was 92 years old.
After 33 years and 1,097 episodes providing what nicer people call "color commentary" (...and what I call "worthless old-man-babbling-about-how-yesteryear-is-better horseshit"), he signed off by asking fans to leave him alone. Well, I for one couldn't tell his nutsack-like saggy neck from the next. Hopefully Andy's ghost won't flatter himself so much.
During his tenure at 60 Minutes, he managed to piss off pretty much everyone. In the December 1989 special, “A Year With Andy Rooney,” he said: “There was some recognition in 1989 of the fact that many of the ills which kill us are self-induced. Too much alcohol, too much food, drugs, homosexual unions, cigarettes. They’re all known to lead quite often to premature death.”
Following that, The Advocate quoted him as saying in an interview:
“I’ve believed all along that most people are born with equal intelligence, but blacks have watered down their genes because the less intelligent ones are the ones that have the most children. They drop out of school early, do drugs and get pregnant.”
Rooney claimed this never happened.
I get that someone's 92 years should not be summed-up by a few statements. But, if you (or your great-grandma) ever watched him on 60 Minutes, you would know that all he did was complain about life anyways. And his last words on air to his true fans were, "Let me eat my dinner."
After being slapped with a paternity suit earlier this week from an alleged one-night stand, 17-year-old moptop lustpuppy of tweens (or 28-year-old lesbian masquerading as a young male pop star...depending on your beliefs) Justin Bieber's apple pie á la mode image is being called into question.
Jimmy Fallon took to his stage to re-interpret Bieber's only across-the-board hit.
Since NBC is a network made up of selfish bitches (hence why their ratings have sucked for a decade) that do not let you embed videos, click here to watch Jimmy work his magic!
"Squad Bieber" denies the claims made by some slut. If I am not legally allowed to call whomever the eff this girl is a slut because she is a tween or something, sue me. If you cannot yet pronounce "clitoris," and you are having elective sex...you deserve to be called a fucking slut.
(Editor's Note: I swear I am not just calling the folks at NBC "selfish bitches" because they denied me from their "NBC Page Program" right out of college. Big deal I didn't want to give them my transcript!)
It looks like Michelle Williams could be celebrating an impressive third Oscar nomination in only 5 years! Her portrayal of Marilyn Monroe in the British drama My Week With Marilyn gives me chills.
I am a MASSIVE Marilyn aficionado. I have read every biography about her tragic life, relationships with Jack and Bobby Kennedy, the Kennedy connection to organized crime, and the heartbreaking shadiness surrounding Marilyn's death. So, you get that I am not easy to please when it comes to portrayals of her.
For example, when HBO produced the 1996 television film, Norma Jean & Marilyn, I balked. Obviously I still own it, but something about it really bothered me. Mira Sorvino played Marilyn Monroe. MIRA FUCKING SORVINO?!?! She certainly ain't sexy enough. She's frail as a bone, full-blown Italian playing Marilyn, has no tits, and has thin little snake lips. Hardly Marilyn material.
To make matters worse in Norma Jean & Marilyn, Ashley Judd played her as Norma Jean Baker--Marilyn Monroe's name. (What makes no sense here is that Judd played her before the glamorous reinvention as Marilyn Monroe.) Ummmm......last I checked Ashley Judd is by far the hotter of the two, and she certainly was in 1996. And she looks much better as a blonde than Mira Sorvino. And she's a better actress, despite Sorvino's [what I theorize to be an] accidental Oscar win. And she has sex appeal. Hell..the last movie in which I saw Mira Sorvino, her costar was Mariah effing Carey. (Glitter, anyone?) The one before that, she was fighting what I believe was a giant cockroach in Mimic. (It must have been a TBS kind of weekend.)
BACK TO WHAT COUNTS HERE... When I first heard Michelle Williams would be playing the icon, I thought what you guys probably thought, "Michelle Williams?! Beautiful enough to play the most celebrated sex goddess of all time? Psssshhhhhhhhhh. Please!" Then I saw her Vogue cover.
Marilyn? Let's be honest. Nobody is Marilyn. Nobody will ever be that sexy. But she truly does appear to embody Marilyn. And look at her glammed-out like that. I needed this shit after BlueValentine. And so did she! She looks stunning.
I received screening materials this week to get a look at Michelle Williams' efforts. My verdict: BREATHTAKING! She handles Marilyn's prettily slight and breathy singing voice masterfully!
She also brilliantly balances Marilyn's unique blend of overt sexuality and sad-childhood/wide-eyed innocence.
A star is truly born! Tell me about that fling with Beek on The Creek again? You've come a long way, baby! Aren't you glad you didn't sell your soul to live in commune-esque captivity like Katie Holmes? She threw her indie-movie promise away to live like that? Psssshhhhhhhh. Now who's playin' Marilyn on the big screen? Geeeezus, I love entertainment!
My Week with Marilyn, co-starring heavy hitters Kenneth Branagh and Dame Judi Dench, hits theaters November 23rd. I suggest you go see it!
[images via: (1) BBC Films, The Weinstein Company; (2) Vogue]
I am not devoting anywhere near as much time to this as I do some of my posts. She ain't worth it. And she should have gone to jail for those rotten toofers in the first place.
Livin' la Vida Lohan was just sentenced to jail for 30 days. Please. We know she won't go. She'll just tweet from the morgue about how terrifying it is. Morgue? Irony?
~~~
Dear Linds,
Get it over with, girl. Look down at your wrists and slice away. You've been killing yourself slowly since the Mean Girls premiere, and you should just land the effing plane already. I would provide instructions on the proper way to do it when you aren't just seeking the attention like Glenn Close's "Alex Forrest" in Fatal Attraction, but I know I'd get sued.
Don't tweet about it. Just get it over with. Save the California taxpayers some money.
At least swallow a shit ton of your pills. All at once. No more attention.
Obviously, I have every single Housewives single.....except White House party-crasher Michaele Salahi's robotic vocal gonorrhea. I refuse to buy anything that bitch coughs up.
Atlanta's Kim Zolciak may have started it all, but what do you think of Queen Lisa's voice? I think she definitely has the best chops. And, above all, Lisa is the only Housewife with the necessary sense of humor about herself to take on such a venture.
(Take a listen to Vanderpump's cover of Carole King's "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow." The vocal stylings begin around the 5 minute mark.)
Click here to check our goddess out in her 1983 music video acting gig from the short film Mantrap. The flick features songs by the band ABC. I have no clue who they are, but I am sure they are bloody-wundahful blokes...since they have such great taste in casting!
(Editor's Note: Kim's "Tardy for the Party" is still in the Top 5 of my iTunes Top 25 Most Played. Yes, I tell it all, brutha....I tell it all.)
...and if I am ever broke and have the munchies at the same time, bulimia will be back as well!
This skank-gnarsty concoction contains a staggering 70 ingredients--34 in the bun alone! One of the ingredients, azodicarbonamide, is actually used in shoe soles and yoga mats!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!
The best thing I have going to prevent me from eating this poo in a box is that I associate the sandwich with Rosie O'Donnell: one of the world's unsexiest people.
Why, you ask? It was 1994, I was a little kid, and The Flinstones was about to make it's theatrical release. McDonald's was using McRib's return as a tie-in with the feature film.
So...I have this McRib association with Rosie O'Donnell, that grating Betty Rubble giggle, and the stinch of one of my brothers slopping the sam'mich up in the back seat of the Suburban on the way to the beach during the summer of ninety-fo'. Sick.
(I do love the above campy-ass flop of a flick known as Exit to Eden, however. Mosdef on up there with the Bruce Willis/Jane March borderline-porno, Color of Night. Ironically, all films came out in '94. Rosie also won the "Worst Supporting Actress" Razzie that year for her triple-treat in Exit to Eden, The Flinstones...and Car 54, Where Are You?. She's terrifying.)
Hopefully the fact that I would rather beat off with a broken bottle than fantasize about Rosie O'Donnell will be enough to keep me away from this shit sandwich.
Few things could be as scarring as seeing Rosie as "Dawn Budge" on Nip/Tuck a few years ago. She paid Dr. Christian Troy $400,000 to plow her McRib. (She threw in an extra 20K for him to do her on the rug. Ewwww! Rosie. Rug. I am signing off.)
