In the category of biggest winning loser, not many can compete with Scott Disick. This lounge-about drunk has done nothing with his life but fuck and vacation his way into some serious cash. It’s a great gig if you can get it. Disick earned upwards of fifteen million playing the role of hard drinking but lovable scoundrel baby daddy to Kourtney Kardashian for several years on their aborted family fetus highlight reel on E!. Now, the fucked up first family is putting together a package of $20 million in blood diamonds to get him to sign a forever binding shut the fuck up NDA. The document would compel Disisck to reply to questions about anything Kardashian with either ‘OMG, what a great family! or ‘I’m positive the missing charity money went to a good cause’.
Given how much is already known about this whore clan, it’s hard to imagine what could be worth a small fortune to keep buried in the closet. Disick does have what no other gone clear ex-cult member possesses. Stories about the supremely fake and staged lives of the Kardashian monied midgets and the legitimacy among their same fan base to blow it up something fierce. If they didn’t fear his tell-all, they wouldn’t be filling Gucci bags with cash for the drop. The only hope is he gets so fucked up on rum and rum he forgets that being rich is far better than being honest. If Disick isn’t at least a U.S. Senator by 2020, I’d be surprised.
Lady Gaga is a pretty good get for a basic cable show. The rules of basic cable allow for some level of nudity if it’s the chick on the show you wanted to see naked the least. Though science speaks against it, I still worry that watching any Ryan Murphy show will transform me into a gay man who hunts for kitschy 50′s kitchen fixtures at area flea markets. Seems unlikely, but I’m sticking to football through my breeding years just the same.
Bella Thorne celebrated her eighteenth birthday, which may or may not have also happened a few years ago when her non-Dominican ballplayer birth certificate documented her the very same age. I don’t blame her stage parents for trying. She’s the third of three girls in a family that all moved out from Florida several years ago to toss their girls into a giant molestation pit and see who crawled out with decent money. The two older sisters crapped out at bit TV parts and scantily clad modeling for guys with remarkably fake European accents. Bella got the big Disney gig and learned to keep secrets extremely well. Her bank account is blowing up. I suspect the parents got theirs when they could. Once the repressed memories start pouring out, they’re going to be legally restrained from attending her first three weddings.
Sometime during Morrissey’s endless list of verbalized complaints about topics ranging from mushy peas to fair eco-trade practices in Sub-Saharan Africa, he spit out being manhandled in the junk zone by a TSA agent at the San Francisco Airport. If you listened to Morrissey’s side of the story, it read like a Burning Bed rape story where he was subdued and sodomized in the name of keeping not moderate Arabs from blowing shit up again. He relished recounting the story as it contained all his favorite subjects: his victimization and men fondling other men’s balls. He even noted he had legal action pending.
The video is out now. As much as it’s easy to hate airport security and TSA because they are incompetent boobs who steal your shit and finger fuck your grandmother and have yet to stop a single fanatical Muslim from boarding a plane because they’re not really even allowed to, this doesn’t look like the gladiator rape Morrissey’s been promising us through use of molestation puppet re-creation.
Does the occasional male TSA agent take the opportunity provided him to reach-around men he finds alluring and give a little pecker squeeze for Uncle Sam? Absolutely. That and seventeen union mandated meal and relief breaks during six hour shifts is the only real perk of the job. If Morrissey has to get an unrequested handy for the rest of us to know we’re getting to Denver alive, so be it. It sucks to be Anglo handsome and famous and sexually undeclared. Next time, bring a fake wife. It’s San Francisco, Steven.
A topless Willis girl creates a confounding conundrum. I love tits and I’m a fan of Bruce Willis, but Bruce Willis with tits is a picador strike to the ball shed. Yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers. This just isn’t working.
At the end of the day, it’s all about speaking truth to power. Your own version of the truth to whoever you designate as powerful. That’s the beauty of everybody deciding they work against the system. Everybody is the victim, nobody is the bully. Everybody is the outsider who can’t catch a break. Everybody has the tougher row to hoe. Except Matt and I. We are kind of dicks.
This week’s Last Men on Earth podcast performs a post mortem on Amber Rose’s SlutWalkLA, muses about just how much dick Eazy-E took up his dirt hole before tainted acupuncture needles felled him, and looks to the brave re-Tweeters of the Internet for advice on gun control. It’s all there if only you will listen.
Thanks to our primary sponsor at ThePornDude.com for making the show happen and also the after-party when we each retreat to our own computers and lock the door. Even Jesus masturbated. True fact.
Body shaming afflicts only the A-listers and the under employed who both have the luxury of self-serving victimization complexes. The girls in the middle trying to make the rent don’t have time for that nonsense. Like this chick cares if some Internet troll out a thousand points out a flaw in her body they will never ever fuck even with their successful cousin Stephen’s dick. People are generally less horrible than you think. But the horrible people are by far the loudest. If they have outstanding tits none of that really matters.