1. Go fuck yourself. Literally. Today, while you are out purchase 2 bottles of red wine and a Mama June sized box of chocolates. When you go home tonight, sit in front of your mirror, drink the red wine (so you start crying immediately), eat the chocolates, right the name of your crush on your index finger, and shove it in your b-hole repeatedly while self-flagellating. That way, tomorrow when people asked what you did, you can say you had a nice dinner, drank your tits off, and got finger-banged so hard you burped up a press-on nail.
2.Watch a marathon of the Millionaire Matchmaker. If Patti Stanger’s coked out, anorexic, sunburnt puffer face doesn’t make you glad to be single, nothing will.
3. Be a whore. Go out by yourself to the sleaziest bar you can find. If you are gay, that means the Cock in the East Village. If you are straight, that means any bar that doesn’t have a dress code. Sit alone in a slutty outfit and get so shitfaced that it doesn’t matter who hits on you. Go home with the first person who talks to you, even if its the janitor. If you do this, you can guarantee you won’t be alone next Valentines day.
You will have Herpes to keep you company.
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I know the world is up in arms about you singing over an audio track at the inauguration of President Michelle Obama is just like us because she shops at Costco, but I forgive you. Why? Because while I do believe that since we turn recording artists into millionaires, they should be able to sing whatever we want, whenever we want, without objection, I also believe that you have paid your dues and earned the right to just exist–I don’t care whether you ever open your mouth again (unless it’s to scream because you are having a nightmare that Aretha Franklin and Steve Buscemi had a baby named Jay-Z and you married it. In that case, scream away. I know I am).
Here are the reasons I wouldn’t care even if you hummed the Taliban national fight song while drinking champagne in a can during the inauguration:
You convinced the world that you were pregnant when in reality you just balled up some old Yaki mixed with Kelly Rowland’s career and stuffed it down the front of your maxi dress.
You are so iconic that you have single-handedly prevented your baby sister Solange Knowles from ever succeeding at anything just by being yourself.
You wore all those outfits your mom pieced together from Toddler’s and Tiaras talent competition cast-offs. You wore them proudly. You went out in public matching two other women, all the time. You looked like a homeless harlequin ethnic Bratz doll that got attacked by a pitbull. Or Pitbull himself. Or Taylor Swift, in one of her breakup songs.
So lip sync away, Beyonce. You can do no wrong, no matter how much wrong you do.
I can understand if you make a living with one of your body parts, you might want to insure it. If I were Ron Jeremy, my crotch would be worth so much I would ejaculate liquid gold. If I were Taylor Swift, my breakup tears would be insured for so much money I drown the state of New Jersey all over again. (Too soon?). If I were Lindsay Lohan– wait never mind. I forgot we were talking about celebrities. Anyway, check out this handy little info-graphic breaking down the ridiculous amounts of money that celebrities insure their body parts for.
The only one I actually agree with is David Beckham. Yes, he has the voice of an English door-mouse whose balls are in a vice grip, (courtesy of Victoria) but the rest of him is worth all that money and more.
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As we all know, X Factor only has one more week before they stop putting us through the torture of watching them figure out how to format the show, how to tape the show, how to turn on microphones at the appropriate times, how to best capture Britney Spears’ dubble-bubble chin stankface, and how to showcase Simon Cowell’s I created all this so we should worship my tiny micro-penis condescending smirk.
So the burning question on everyone’s minds (and in everyone’s vaginal canals) is obviously WWKKDN: “What will Khloe Kardashian do next?” Her momager Kris Jenner had a few great gigs lined up, including, but not limited to: A walk on part as a yeti in the upcoming Monsters Inc. 3D redux, a super exciting 3-year contract job playing a California redwood in the next Planet Earth for Discovery Channel miniseries, and a unique opportunity to work as a security guard for the new Freedom Tower in lower Manhattan. Her responsibilities would consist of holding the tower up, should it be struck with any random flying objects, like airplanes, or big black basketball dicks.
Khloe passed on all of these projects however, deciding she would rather play Goro in the New Mortal Kombat movie. Why did she make this interesting decision you ask? Because she believes it will lead her one step closer to finding her birth parents, who are obviously four-armed nine-foot tall tranny beast creatures from some far-away land called outworld where the letter “C” doesn’t exist. If you don’t believe me, take a look at the evidence, referenced below.
Total twinsies, am I right?
Have you ever noticed that no matter where you go or what you do around Christmastime, Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas” song follows you around like an anorexic pitbull just freed from a Southern Californian fighting pit (basically Nick Cannon). I have tried everything short of running away to Zimbabwe to escape this song, but every day, every gay, I am constantly bombarded with that those few haunting opening notes. It is the number one google search for “All I want for Christmas” and has its own wikipedia page. So why is it that Mariah Carey dominates every Christmas party in 2012, even though the song came out in 1994 (thats nineteen-ninety-fucking-four)? I have some theories:
Because Mariah Carey is the same size, shape, and consistency as a gingerbread man. When you think of gingerbread men, you think of Christmas. Take a look at her face for a second: She has tiny little raisin eyes, pores the size of hubcaps, and a big smile that says: I am going to come to your holiday dinner, eat your fucking soul, and chase it with an entire gravy boat.
Because she Carey bought Christmas from Santa Claus for a cool 1 million dollars. You have to know here, that by Santa Claus, I mean Tommy Mottola. (think about it- they are both older than the Bible and love for little girls to sit on their laps. I am also pretty sure that neither of them have ever met a cookie they didn’t like). But you must know that by “buy Christmas” I mean he gave her Christmas in exchange for keeping the secret that he is toads molesty.
Because nobody embodies the term “ho,ho,ho” better than her.
Because Christmas is about giving gifts, and Mariah Carey thinks that she is the greatest gift of all. When it comes to divas, I feel like Mariah is up there with Celine and Barbra. I will openly admit that Mariah Carey is one of the most talented singers the world has ever seen. I will also openly admit that Read more…
Want to know the funny thing about that headline? Pretty much everything. Not only could it be used to describe a myriad of other experiences besides the recent Lifetime flop Liz and Dick, but its also ironic because the last time I checked, Lindsay Lohan was a total rug muncher. I watched Liz and Dick on opening night via my DVR (because I wanted to fast fwd through all the inevitable commercials for rehab centers and suicide hotlines). To say the least, I was not sober. To say the most, I was entertained. If you ignore Lindsay Lohan‘s odd timing, her raspy Marlboro Red vocals, the jaded I have lived 6 lifetimes in 24 years and done enough cocaine to stop an elephant’s heart look in her eyes, and the fact that by the end of the movie they had clearly exhausted their wig budget and were outfitting her head in a cartoon hairpiece they borrowed from Dora the Explorah, the movie was entertaining. Lohan’s acting was decent, and she actually cried a few times, even though you could see the tiniest glisten of cocaine in every tear that fell. The scenes where she was smoking were especially believable, since Lohan was born with emphysema, and I enjoyed all the camera tricks they tried to use to hide her puffy drug face double chin.
Was she an academy award winner? No. But playing a petulant starlet that falls madly in love over and over, has an affinity for jewelry that she doesn’t pay for, and causes scandals on a daily basis should have come easy to Lohan, and it did.
The problem came after I actually watched Elizabeth Taylor on screen. Taylor had Read more…
Times, they are a changing. Behold the first ever transgendered Cuban public official, Adela Hernandez. In November, the delicate pepto bismol flower that is Adela Hernandez was elected as delegate to the municipal government of Caibarien. I have no idea what that means, but all I do know is that up until recently, Cuba hasn’t been very tolerant of the gays. Adela has been attacked in the street for showing off the glamourousness of a fuschia vickies camisole, and she once went to jail the 80′s for “dangerousness”. If “dangerousness” were an actual crime in the United States, Lindsay Lohan would have received the death sentence for her Liz and Dick lifetime skit, and I would be doing community service for extreme sexiness.
Adela, who is the love child of Cheech Marin and Brigitte Nielson works as a nurse by day, serves honorably in her neighborhood watch by night, and apparently spends her free time staging publicity stunts that make Courtney Stodden look like a wallflower. If you notice, in the above picture she is clearly in an “undesirable neighborhood” read: Cuba, yet the sheets she is hanging to dry aren’t wet, and appear to be whiter than the inside of Paz De La Huerta’s left nostril.
Anyone who has ever lived in the ghetto or bought drugs in the ghetto knows that there is no such thing as a white sheet in the inner city. Still, bravo for Cuba embracing the transgendered community! It started with gays, now this nouveau civil rights movement has extended to trannies. After that, all we have to do is stop discriminating against fat people, and we might have a cold chance in hell of being a world full of decent human beings.
Never before has there been a famous family so horribly deformed by plastic surgery. I don’t know if its because half their noses are so thin you could use them to cut a rail of blow with Lindsay Lohan, the fact that their eyebrows are so high they throw shade at the famed glass skyscrapers of Dubai, or the glaring realization that only one of them still looks black. Regardless, it is safe to say that more than a few of them have gone under the knife, and the bootleg doctor they found on Craigslist probably didn’t bother wiping down the refrigerator box in the alleyway where he performed their operations. To be clear, I am in no way saying that all black people look the same. Mostly because I don’t think any of the Jacksons are still black.
6. Tito Jackson- He who shall not be named gets a 6, because he, in fact, does still look black. He also looks like a pimp. The kind of pimp that moonlights as an Evangelist pastor at a chapel in BedStuy while his “womens” patrol the ho stroll outside.
5. Janet Jackson- Despite the fact that her weight bobs up and down harder than Ke$ha’s head in a Chicago cigar bar, Janet still looks pretty good too. I am 99% sure she asked the surgeon for the “Jackson needlenose special” but for some reason hers turned out better. I’m not saying its because she slept with him, but I am saying that Damita Jo doesn’t sound like the name of any respectable lady I know.
4. Jermaine Jackson- Lately, tabloids have reported that Jermaine wants to change his last name and disassociate himself with his family. I can’t help but think from his ebony black flat-top hair tattoo and south of the border nose job that he is planning to relocate to Mexico and start his life over as a Taco Bell quality control enchilada taster.
3. Lil Kim- I honestly can’t tell the difference. Can you?
2.Latoya Jackson- Steven Tyler called. He wants his wig back. And while you are at it, Read more…
I just couldn’t help myself. I know that this video is flying around the internet faster and harder than the furious fists of Ariel Winters’s momager (too soon? too young? too irrelevant?) but I had to cover it. The main reason I had to cover it? The salacious “bitch please” eyebrows scrawled onto this fiery latino’s forehead. These eyebrows need to be shared with the world at large.
The other reason? Its pretty fucking hilarious. Enjoy.
I don’t know what turns me on more: that his skin is pale as freshly fallen snow/a freshly cut rail of blow, that his lips are as sculpted as a finely made flesh-light, or that his vacant children of the corn eyes stare into my soul so hard my tampon explodes into a fiery rain of toxic shock syndrome. Regardless, Evan Peters of American Horror Story fame is the kind of guy who could easily charm his way into your home, then rob, rape, and murder you without even having to say “please”.
Is he stereotypically “hot”? No. The bags under his eyes could hold an entire years worth of RuPaul’s Drag Race Nyx Cosmetics, and his greasy hair is more flammable than Joe Simpson. That’s what makes him so hot though- he represents a new kind of attractiveness. The kind of beauty you find behind a dumpster, shooting up heroin, about to kill itself.
I’d fuck it. Would you?
Somebody should have taught him to swallow…
That’s the face I make when I jerk off thinking of Read more…