Jennifer Aniston got privately married to that actor who wears a motorcycle helmet to ensure she’d be as boring as humanly possible. Her long standing ‘I don’t need a man to be happy’ shtick was the last vestige of interesting. She’s back on set with Jason Sudeikis working on the next modestly amusing comedy you might watch four years from now on HBO if you forget the title. Her skin looks amazing. Especially around her nipples. Find the positive.
Chelsea Handler’s talk show on Netflix should be coming out around 2019 or once we discover water on Mars, which ever comes last. These shenanigans appear to be a bid to stay relevant following her run of Chelsea Lately, as unfortunately once you turn forty as a woman the world often forgets about you. Which is happening no matter how many tit pics you inundate the Library of Congress with. Handler only had to fuck the head of programming at E! for a few weeks to get her original show and immediately stop after signing the contract. That’s unprofessional, sir. He was rewarded with a better job. No such behavior goes on at Netflix. The future is going to be much more progressive. Meaning the show will be cancelled immediately.
It probably wasn’t fair Paula Deen was fired from her TV gig and lost all her sponsors because she dropped the N Word sometime around Reconstruction. Also not fair to the general public that because she’s behind on house payments we’ll now have to watch her on Dancing With The Stars. Just give her a show where she pours butter into a pan and garnishes it with a sprig of parsley before chugging it as an aperitif. Nipples still aren’t allowed on TV but she’ll be squeezing her shoulder fat into a one piece in good taste. Deen always got a lot of heat for her Southern style dishes which promoted obesity which generally leads to racism. Now she’ll have to put her money where her mouth is. Watch Magda from Something About Mary shimmy around on the dance floor and you’ll think twice about her scalloped potato recipe. In fact honey I’m feeling a bit nauseous, let’s skip dinner tonight and go down on each other. Put a pineapple ring on my dick and I’ll stick an asparagus in you. So these are fruits and vegetables? Wild stuff.
Lucy Liu posted a photo of her new baby on Instagram, Rockwell Llyod Liu. With a name like that he should be able to skirt the nationwide ban on bullying. Liu didn’t mention it, but her rep confirmed the baby was born via a surrogate mother who really wished she hadn’t dropped out of college. Where have you been all night and why do you smell like beer?
“I can confirm that Lucy Liu is the proud mother of Rockwell Lloyd Liu, brought into the world via gestational carrier. Mom and baby are healthy and happy.”
Since there would be no reason to suspect Lucy recovered from an illness simultaneously as the baby was born, it appears her agent is calling the surrogate mother the real mother. That would make Liu more of an egg donor/financial advisor. It’s unclear if Liu was unable to carry the child or just didn’t feel like losing the weight after. Give the little guy a tune up after the first 5,000 miles. Coke stays in your system for three days. I don’t trust a chick who gets pregnant and doesn’t make a run to Mexico with the kid. Actually nobody does. Hence, the ankle bracelet.
A Caitlyn Jenner Halloween costume has pissed off the kinds of people who like to get pissed off about things. What pisses my off is that it’s $74. Can’t you just wear a dress and a plastic gold medal and be done with it?
The ‘hey, look who’s here tonight’ guest singers list at Taylor Swift events has picked up to about thirty per evening. It’s been stale since Bruce Springsteen pulled Courteney Cox up on stage in the 80′s pretending she was plucked out of the crowd. Taylor Swift’s latest show featured duets with Selena Gomez, the both of them dressed in your grandpa’s vintage underwear lest you get a PG-rated boner, Lisa Kudrow singing Smelly Cat, Barbara Streissand crooning The Way We Were through a mic in her vagina, and the corpse of Liberace telling Taylor Swift she doesn’t need a man to be happy. And lots of strutting. The audience is filled with screaming young girls and their dads wondering if for $300 they’re going to get anything measurably decent for their spank bank. It’s a circus of tears and lip-synched shame that brings in half a million a night. Okay, the boots are nice. Deposit.
Rosie O’Donnell spent the final weeks before her adopted daughter Chelsea turned eighteen hunting her down for daring to leave Castle O’Donnell in the quest of man cock. O’Donnell returned her daughter to the highest tower and resumed drugging her under the guise of her mental illness called lust. Chelsea turned eighteen this week and on the very same day had her bio mom pick her up and drive her a thousand miles away from Rosie pronto. This is the same bio mom who claims she was drugged out of her mind and her husband sold her baby without her permission to O’Donnell back in the day. Not exactly the mom of the year, but when it’s a choice between hitting up Wendy’s and motels on a road trip with this addict and sticking around to see what prescription meds Rosie has for you next, you hop right into the ’03 Corolla and start catching up with the woman who birthed you.
I’d call this story one of triumph over crazy. Rosie O’Donnell announced she’s cutting Chelsea off from all funds because that’s all she has left to say. Your kids don’t ditch you the day they legally can because you’re awesome. Rosie has only 87 adopted spawn left to work over in the hopes of finding the pure soul to take her candy factory when she retires. Not a factory so much as a big basement storage room filled with Baby Ruth’s and Snickers.
If a grown man spends fifty bucks for a blowjob, he gets arrested. If he spends a hundred thousand dollars on disfiguring plastic surgery, he gets a reality show. Tobias Strebel’s circle of friends watched grinning as he turned himself into mentally disturbed imitation of the world’s most disliked teen lesbian singer. That’s so Tobias. Now he’s 35 and found dead with drugs in a Valley motel room. The police are claiming his runaway binge may have been triggered by the breakup with his boyfriend. Nobody is suggesting that he was in massive need of a rubber room rather than a TLC and E! contract and doctors looking the other way for cash payments. At some point we made boxers wear gloves so they could live a few years past their last fight. We pretend to be humane to our freaks and gladiators. Nobody pretended with Tobias Strebel. Meh, my heart is too big for this world.