Amanda Bynes got busted for driving under the influence of something stronger than Benadryl. This is kind of a bummer for all of us who were rooting for Amanda to make it clean through her probation and designing kick-ass t-shirts class at FIDM. You may recall that Amanda spent much of 2013 throwing cats out the window and lighting bongs on fire I might have that mixed up. Amanda walked away from those wacky adventures with some voluntary psych checks and a wet reckless charge which is a not-quite-DUI thing they made up for celebrities. Now they’ll have to make up something like super wet and dangerously reckless. Or just the Aguilera. Either way, Amanda, consider yourself on double secret probation.
The 14-year-old obese girls and closeted men who love Twilight are attacking Robert Pattinson’s new beard because she’s black. He’s “dating” the stupidly named FKA Twigs and Twilight fans have been harassing her with racist comments. It’s always sad when the ugliness of racism arises for no apparent reason. It’s slightly less sad when a Twilight fan dies horribly.
Read all about the Twilight haters hatin’. (Dlisted)
Hey, look! Ashley Benson and Shay Mitchell are kissing. (Drunken Stepfather)
And, lest we forget, Jessie J also has a booty. (Hollywood Tuna)
Kelly Brook is single, fellas. (The Superficial)
If strippers got naked at all games I might actually watch soccer. Might. (Busted Coverage)
Yes, I’m sexually attracted to female Thor. (Fox News)
Beyonce accidentally shows everyone her bra. Whoopsie! (Huffington Post)
Update: Just to be clear, between attorneys for black Jesus, my own counsel the ghost of Justice Brandeis, and one very pissed-off toddler, I’d like to clearly state that nothing in this post should imply, indicate, or infer that I honestly believe a young child should have breast augmentation surgery or engage in any types of illicit carnal transactions. There’s time for everything in life. For this beautiful child, it’s a time of great innocence and wonder. I wish her nothing but the best on her journey to that place I’m pretty sure we all know she’s headed, though couldn’t possibly state with any legal certainty.
If this little Kardashian thinks having her ears pierced and clubbing at midnight cuts the family standards, she’s in for a rude awakening. You can’t have one cheap mannequin flashing her oversized cans in the City of Light while her arm accessory looks ready to cry and isn’t filling out her whore suit. If you’re walking, you’re earning. That’s the Kardashian motto. Along with something in Latin that translates roughly to cock in trachea, ten denarius not including tip.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI, Splash
UFC after parties are key ever since UFC responded to their shittier fight night cards by raising pay-per-view prices to Paris Hilton’s weekend cocaine tab. They schedule some pretty decent match-ups, then cancel when some fighter’s roid box blows or their dog chews off their flexor tendon while they’re sleeping in their van behind the Luxor. That’s why you need the stellar ring girls who pass the test of looking bangable in Larry Bird’s 80′s trunks as they circle the octagon in a counterclockwise rotation between rounds. If these girls started punching the shit out of each other, that would be mighty disturbing, though finally worth the DirecTV bill.
Photo Credit: Fame Flynet, Splash, AKM-GSI
This Brazilian model looks pretty concerned. Like she just realized it’s been two hundred years since Brazil shrugged off colonial rule and 98% of the population is living off DIY products made from pop tops. Severe faced women in masculine dress with their tits hanging out have always made me a little uncomfortable. Does it make you gay if she looks like your unusually lithesome brakes guy? I’m not into labels. Just so long as nobody’s storing videos to the Cloud, I’m telling my buddies she looked more like Adriana Lima and less like Angelina Jolie at a Serbian genocide trial.
Photo Credit: Lui Magazine
It’d be a real knee slapper to go through all the crappy reviews of Lindsay Lohan in her British stage debut. All the tweets and rants and pans about how she forgot her lines, clearly wasn’t well-rehearsed and had to have the nervous bald dude who lives in every theater feeding her lines from the trapdoors. But, fuck you, people who get involved in obviously horrible shit just to complain about it. You don’t cast Lindsay Lohan in your fancy West End play because you want a dramatic performance for the ages. You don’t pay some bit of quid to go see Lindsay Lohan on stage so you can Facebook your Cambridge college gal pals and gush about the most wonderful performance. You pay to see a train wreck. Why not go to a Harlem Globetrotters game and bitch about the Washington Generals phoning it in. Or yell at the rodeo clown to stop being such a dufus. You’re there to see that sad, overly made-up buffoon take a painful horn to the ass. I’m talking about Lindsay now.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI
For those unfamiliar with mid market shit factories, Twin Peaks is a great chain restaurant. That’s assuming you’re looking to score a boner and diarrhea. Originally it was created as a rival to Hooters, which tends to favor seniority and maternity leave potential over breast to hip ratio when it comes to selecting the girls to don the orange dolphin shorts. Twin Peaks has taken a different approach, and solely employs hot young dumb ass. I mean that as a compliment. It’s a true meritocracy based solely on physical attraction and not your server’s ability to work a pitcher or even speak traditional english. The formula seems to work. The chain’s locations have proven highly profitable. It turns out lame dudes who will never get a foot in the door with the chick dripping her pussy shavings onto some nachos are lining up around the block in support of tits and processed cheese. Twin Peaks is now one of America’s fastest growing chains. Maybe this will change once lawsuit trolls sue the shit out of them for not hiring Chaz Bono’s fiancee. Until then I highly recommend grabbing a drink or two on your way to a superior restaurant at your next Tulsa area sales convention.
Photo Credit: Facebook
Amy’s Baking Company in Phoenix became famous when its owners appeared to be psychotic on Gordon Ramsay’s show called Kitchen Nightmares. It featured Ramsay pretending to be angry about restaurants which were so horridly inept at conducting business they thought it would be a good idea to seek out a free thirty minute commercial about how shitty they were. Most of them were just delaying the inevitable on their way out of business, but figured they may as well take the opportunity to meet a frosty tipped Brit and embarrass their families on national television in exchange for a tiny chunk of network cash.
Amy’s Baking Company was the crown jewel in this show’s perennial pile of shit legacy. Amy came off as an entitled and idiotic trophy wife cunt, while her husband was portrayed as a violent border line criminal who hated humanity and patrons. This led people to review Amy’s on Yelp who felt like being mean to them since they appeared to be tumors on society’s underbelly. Amy’s is somehow still in business and probably hemorrhaging money to write off shady off shore accounts. The pair recently filmed an embarrassingly transparent staged knife chase in attempt to generate buzz for what is most likely a stupid reality show they are currently shopping around. These assholes suck at the restaurant business and also lack knowledge in the field of reality TV production. There are plenty of useless fools out there, but the ones who get shows at least learn how to be uneventful. Everything else seems fake, or faker. Fuck.