Gigi Hadid is the Hadid sister who doesn’t have celebrity lyme disease. She’s carrying zika. Maybe ebola. Something topical that’s absolutely not herpes from the not-gay one in One Direction. Her underboobs look exactly like the underboobs of her sister two days ago. You wouldn’t even know which one of them is dying. Which one is it again? There was never going to be enough to send both girls to rehab. This just makes it easier.
Helen Mirren taped a Super Bowl ad for Budweiser chiding people to consume less Budweiser. It’s veiled as anti-drunk driving, but reducing drinking is the obvous path to reducing drunk driving so you’re telling people to buy less of your shit for their own good. A number of other beer and liquor companies have similar campaigns dedicated to safe drinking, moderate drinking, thinking before you drink, drinking responsibly, and trying not to beat your gay son while intoxicated. I think that last one is Genny Light.
The government forces these campaigns which are wholly unnatural and entirely empty. The point of booze is to get lit. Life sucks and you want to get high. Maybe have sex with a girl who doesn’t take amazing care of herself or why else would she let you, grab a slice, and usher in a new day from the depths of your carpet. If you want to drink something yummy, order a fucking milkshake, Grimace. When people say have fun but don’t have too much fun, what they’re really saying is, don’t have any fun at all. Or, occasionally, don’t fuck my daughter I don’t care if you paid for a limo. Unless you live alone in a barren landscape, you shouldn’t drink and drive. Though then it would be amazing. We have harsh laws and penalties for drunk driving and everybody who is going to get it, already gets it. Those that don’t won’t be moved by Helen Mirren. Let’s get back to adverising tits and ass and beer and how they all go together. There’s no other way to sell Budweiser.
The AIDS drug Wu-Tang album buying Bud Fox just won’t shut the fuck up. It’s unclear when exactly Martin Shkreli is going to prison, but not soon enough. Shkreli’s thirst for attention and street cred is right up there with the dramatically inclined rappers, but not quite gangster. Shkreli went on one of those rap music morning shows where everybody has a super cool DJ nickname and enunciation issues and pleaded his case for folks to hate the game, not the player. Shkreli doubled down on his physical threats to Ghosface Killah just because his particular brand of narcissism is tinged with a heavy dose of death wish.
He was taking shots at me! In the hip-hop game, as we all know, it’s not easy to be on the receiving end of those things without jumping back
It remains unclear why Shkreli believes he’s in the hip hop game. He provided enough proof that his parents were shitty providers to be accepted into the urban music world on a guest pass. None of this makes any sense and won’t have any purpose until Shkreli is found blooded to a pulp with four claw hammers dropped next to his body. You’ll never bang a Kardashian. There’s no end game except for crazy circles. You might’ve survived the rap game, you never should’ve pissed off The AIDS community. They brought the hammers.
It’s no secret that Kendall Jenner likes to wear super tight pants. If you do that long enough, eventually you are going to flash some camel toe. Especially if your vulva is swollen from all the rain we’ve been having. And black men. And more rain.
If you’re ever in battle with Kanye West, go forthwith to the anal play charges. Chink in armor noted, rapping Smaug. The master of ego-centric promotion and legend in his own time mythology folded like a very gay deck of cards in his battle with Wiz Khalifia and by extension Amber Rose the minute the latter mentioned Kanye’s proclivity for bottom play in the bedroom. Fingers up the butt was the opening salvo. Whatever was lined up next scared the shit out of Kanye who went into an emergency Camp David session with Wiz to reach a detente. The treaty included a first lady showcase where Kim Kardashian was dispatched to offer a concession basket to Amber Rose. Essential oils and some large amount of free social media traffic in exchange for mum on the list of sex toys that went north into the rectum. There are no gay men in the rap world. Trust, but verify.
This chick has made an entire career out of not talking and having lips that look like she just sucked the tailpipe of a classic Buick until it surrendered. Each skill therein by itself only gets you so far. Combine the two with The Transporter making threatening phone calls to booking agents you’ll never go hungry again.
At some point the music industry will admit that Selena Gomez looks like a 12-year old Tijuana boy hustling both sides of the street. Not today. Not with Photoshop and glitter. If you can curb eighteen inches from around Khloe’s thorax, you can make Selena Gomez look salacious to more than just the local male librarian volunteer who obsesses over the idea of fucking the local Little League star. Is that you Benny the Jet? You look good in a bikini. Would implants kill you?
For all the mythology, almost nobody in rock takes that ‘better to burn out than fade away’ adage to heart. There are child support payments to be made. Puddle of Mudd frontman Wes Scantlin has been racking upstage meltdowns and drunk and disorderly arrests for several years now. He’s been booked at multiple airports, once for riding a luggage conveyor belt while intoxicated. It’s cute if you’re a co-ed on Spring Break. Less so when you’re in your 40′s and still trying to pull off Cobain junior. Performing at a show in Ohio where you’d really have to poll the audience as to why they had no better use of twenty dollars, Scantlin played a couple songs in a set before identifying a guy in the audience he said ‘stole his house’ then dropped the mic and left.
This motherfucker right here stole my motherfucking house and now he’s standing right fucking in front of me laughing at me. And he fucking figures I’m a fucking joke. This motherfucker right here… Get his ass on camera. This is the dog. Right here. This is the motherfucker right here. This guy stole my fucking house.
You could dig deeper into the nature and legitimacy of Scantlin’s claims of property theft, but that seems like an incredible waste of time. The same reason why when a drunk old lady in the store stoop is mumbling about aliens stealing her baby we don’t call NASA to investigate. If you knew for a fact that fading away involved sliding on a satin jacket and storming off stage would you maybe have considered burning out more seriously?