Completely unfounded and unsubstantiated reports seem to indicate that the decent and upstanding executives at Viacom might cancel the Sam & Cat show on Nickelodeon because its co-star Jennette McCurdy had photos of her titties in lingerie leaking across the Internet. Apparently, this pushed the standards beyond what is acceptable for the television distributors of Teen Mom and Buckwild. Of course, they’re not really going to cancel shit if it’s making money. They’d livestream honor killings of raped preteens in Pakistan if they could find a lucrative sponsor. That’s show business. It also demands that something futile be done by somebody in trumped up reaction to the lingerie photos and the very lonely mildly retarded people who complain how they somehow hurt the children. What if these kids grow up to wear lingerie themselves? Fuck, that would be horrible. While Jennette McCurdy remains completely ashamed at looking super hot, she can probably count on playing a goofy brand-safe teenager on television until she’s 40.
Leaving no rock unturned, the foreign pod people supervising the extinction of the human race by way of their fruity packaged water got Don Ho’s daughter in her underwear at the beach. It’s a sign of something particularly heinous. Or it’s possible Kea Ho was just drunk and accidentally walked onto the photo set. It’s not easy being Do Ho’s daughter. First, you have to remind everybody who the hell Don Ho is.
Photo Credit: FameFlynet
With Daylight Savings Time it’s been nearly twenty-three actual hours since Nicki Minaj shared photos of herself. She’s usually showering or rehearsing for work or taking a dump off-camera. Sometimes I feel like I’m living with Nicki Minaj, besides the sole benefit that would make such an arrangement tolerable.
Photo Credit: Nicki Minaj/Instagram
Poor Mr. Putin. You might’ve thought the loyalist Ukrainian forces were no match for your Russian Bear army, but here comes the dainty ladies of FEMEN to thwart your aggression with the unparalleled anger of painted feminists with body issues. Your missiles and bullets are no match for the shield of pissed off estrogen that now encircles Kiev like an uncomfortable woolen blanket of vaginal rage. Queens to King’s Knight Four. Your move, Vlad.
(Yeah, they’re actually in Times Square. I dare you to be the one to tell them how pointless that is.)
Photo Credit: Getty
There doesn’t seem to be many job options for Australian girls outside of bikini model. I think there’s also morning talk show host, beauty pageant contestant, and widow of Steve Irwin. That’s the gamut. If you get the bikini model gig, you get to travel the world and eventually marry a dude with money in real estate. If you don’t make it one of these prime categories, they just drop you Hunger Games in the bush and the kangaroos and dingos eat you. It’s a fucking vicious circle of life in a nation populated by former convicts. It’s like Northern Ohio, but with sunshine and winning sports franchises.
Photo Credit: Splash News
Rob Kardashian doesn’t want to go to sister Kim’s magical third wedding because he’s too fat. Rob has been steadily gaining weight over the last few years and is embarrassed that he doesn’t look like a plastic demon-troll like the rest of his family. Rob is whining to anyone who will listen that he feels like he’s going to stick out like a fat Armenian thumb if he goes to France for Kim’s heavily staged nuptials. Rumor has it that the two haven’t been that close in recent years because, you know, she’s an evil ambitious bitch like her mom and he’s a self-pitying fat lounge-about sock-designer who secretly hates his family. Instead of slamming cheeseburgers down his gullet, it sure would be interesting if he went to the wedding and took hostages in whatever chateau has agreed to barter their historical soul for cash. The mere idea of CNN reporting on Rob Kardashian threatening to blow up his entire family in the castle keep gives me a Kate Upton level boner. Go to Paris, Rob. Please. Bring your years of pent up rage. They have McDonald’s. And plastique.
Lumpy Loch Ness monster Lena Dunham is at it again when she made a child rape joke after her SNL appearance. It all started when the tatted manatee appeared on SNL, you guessed it, naked. The bit was meant to make fun of criticism that Dunham is unnecessarily nude on Girls. When someone on Twitter asked her what we are all thinking, “Why are you naked all the time” she responded by Tweeting,
“Please tell that to my uncle, mister. He’s been making me!”
Child molestation is hilarious! The Internet jumped down her throat, because everybody on the Internet is right. Dunham apologized profusely and said she didn’t mean any disrespect to people who had been fiddled by their uncles. The fact is, for somebody who pretends not to care what people think about her, Lena Duham cares a shitload. She’s not writing tons of horrific sex scenes for herself because she’s indifferent to public notice. That’s exactly why she is doing it. And why she and her New York inflated minions become so aggressively hostile when her ‘indifference’ is questioned. She’s the most sensitive person in the world, you know, underneath that thick protective layer of comfort food.
Here’s a little hint for the ladies. If your boyfriend tells you who you can or can not hang out with or work with, it’s not because he values you, it’s because he owns you. Fuck, how about that for a little Oprah meets Dr. Phil meets that halfway house counselor you’ll be meeting with soon with a bloody lip explaining that she doesn’t understand, sometimes he just gets angry when you burn his toast. Shakira’s baby daddy, Gerard Pique, doesn’t let her get near men, even for her music video work. She even had to ask him permission to be slightly touching Rihanna in her latest music video. Shakira, who is apparently a teenage girl from a broken home, thinks this is super romantic awesome:
He’s very territorial, and since he no longer lets me do videos with men, well, I have to do them with women. It’s more than implied in our relationship that I can’t do videos like I used to. IT’s out of the question — which I like, by the way. I like that he protects his turf and he values me, in a way that the only person he would ever let graze my thigh would be Rihanna.
Many defenders of her soccer playing boyfriend say that Americanos just don’t understand the traditional Spanish world view on how a respectable wife who would never be allowed to dance with another man in public. Which might almost make sense if Gerard had actually bothered to marry Shakira, instead of just banging a bastard baby into her, which I guess is also Spanish traditional. C’mon, Shakira, you’re a 36-year old multimillionaire midget with a nice ass. You don’t need a dude who’s charting your response times to his texts. Come be with me. You can come home at 3am stinking of Old Spice and covered in man juice and I’ll just make you some lentil soup and ask you if you need an ice pack for your vag. Just buy me a Bentley and hump me on Sundays and I’m good.