A few years ago Rob Ford was volunteering as assistant coach for a high school football team and according to newly released documents he abused the shit out of them. Another coach testified that Ford would show up hammered and scream and yell at the kids like that drunk uncle you mock until he hits you with a shovel. For all his lovable loser antics, if Ford really “made the players roll in goose scat” I have to wash my hands of him. Surely when you are wasted and high to the gills on a daily basis you’re going to do some misguided shit, but rolling kids in feces crosses the line. I was more than fine with him grabbing secretarial ass, falling down like a funny fat man, and bragging about eating pussy. His extraordinarily common behavior should have served as an inspiration to politicians across the land. Like most things in life it may have been too good to be true. Ford wasn’t just a walking Chris Farley sketch, he was a mean drunk who probably scarred a bunch of kids who are already being punished by playing football in Canada. I’m still going to laugh when Ford tumbles down his next flight of stairs, I’m just going to be rooting for a vertebrae snap this time.
The disgusting last option eatery Denny’s is opening its first New York City location in the Financial District. Denny’s had previously stayed out of New York because people who live there can afford to dine where pubic hair isn’t a standard garnish. This Denny’s is going to differ from the chain’s usual motif of Thunderbird wrecked homeless people and blacked out frat boys and instead feature an upscale vibe. The menu contains a $300 dollar Grand Cru Slam, which is two Grand Slam breakfasts, a bottle of Don P, and a “Bartender high five.” After you wash your hands you may want to check with the expense accounts department at your firm, because you have just been fucking fired. Opening a Denny’s in the Financial District makes as much sense as opening an Aria in Skid Row. I look for this to last about two months before its converted into a Taco Bell where salary men can quickly get in and out and avoid the public shaming of their self abuse.
Photo Credit: Facebook
USC scrub Anthony Brown just quit the team because coach Steve Sarkisian is a racist. Brown made his announcement on Instagram, where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. would be posting today if he were alive.
“Sark treated me like a slave in his Office…Can’t play for a racist MAN!!!!! #Fighton.”
When reached for comment on his allegations Brown said the following:
“I called a meeting up with this disrespectful guy!!! He called me a coward, all types of fuck words. He stereotype my mom and dad. Like he belittle me to another level. I just responded Yes Sir and No Sir!”
Football coaches are puffed-up blowhards, both the good ones and the bad ones, but talking to a black player like an asshole doesn’t make you a racist. It just makes you an asshole. True racists aren’t going to intentionally involve themselves in careers spent kissing ass to black athletes.
What is clear is that Brown was barely holding onto his spot on the team before suffering an injury setback. He is also a senior and clearly not going pro, so why not take the free year of tuition, hit a few bars while coasting by on electives, and avoid those dreadful two a day workouts in the sun. ‘Racist MAN!!!!’ is shorthand for free cruise.
Photo Credit: Twitter
If you’ve never dated a woman with crazy eyes, you’re really missing out on one of life’s true risky pleasures. I don’t care if you scaled Everest using just your dick and a rubber band, until you’ve been with a woman who urges you to get some sleep while she stares catatonically at the kitchen knives, you’ve never really taken chances. If she asks you if you like her best friend, that’s just code for, how shall I sever your cock in your sleep? Because she doesn’t have any best friends. She worships the black raven that carries communiques from the Dark Lord in her head. Other women can see that. You were blinded by a chick who liked ropes in bed. Now your junk is in the garbage disposal and she ate your left eye for good measure. Regret only worsens behind an eye-patch.
Photo Credit: FHM
After copious amounts of heroin, Russell Brand decided his life had to have more meaning than just being an occasionally funny comedian who makes the same occasionally funny movie over and over again. Some people’s soul searching leads them to crude medical clinics in the Congo, for performers it’s either unintelligible indie films or writing op-ed pieces in the newspaper. Nobody rich really wants to soul search their way into a case of ebola.
Russell Brand doubled down on his spiritual awakening by granting a documentary team total access to his life for the past few years. Since the only thing people could possibly be interested in involving Brand’s spiritual journey was his short-lived marriage to Katy Perry, even the filmmakers are letting slip that that will form a solid bulk of the documentary content. Watching Brand stroke himself while reading Malcolm X will comprise the remaining eighteen percent of screen time.
For Katy Perry this means a ton of the unpleasant and real shit her publicity and legal team spend so many countless hours and money destroying in the virtual shredder will likely be onscreen. While marriage to Russell Brand has to be akin to shoving a rusty nails up your ass until you feel it whittling the back of your molars, word always was that Katy was a total cunty nightmare of a spouse. This doesn’t bode well for her. Brand makes his living off being an asswipe. Katy by pretending to be the exact opposite. I would not be surprised to see a horrible fire in the documentarians post-production facility that takes out all known copies off the footage. The only forensic clues left behind of brightly colored feathers and shreds of nipple tape.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI
I might be juvenile, but I got excited when Halle Berry almost showed off where babies of fifty year olds come from. I bet she’s had that vagina surgery that gives her twat the size, grip, and poor decision making skills of a teenager again. I’m sure her French husband benefits from thinking about that while he’s making sweet love to his dutiful male assistant. French men are gay jokes are cheap, but they still make me giggle.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI
Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie got married in secret and no one gave a flying fuck. It’s not like it’s 2002 when you were on the cover of magazines and Angelina had yet to cut off her breasts. What’s the fucking point of getting married after having 85 kids together. It is too late.
Read all about the douchey nuptials. (The Superficial)
Kristen Stewart says it isn’t that she’s a shitty actress it’s that everyone else is shittier. (Dlisted)
Kendall Jenner in a swimsuit makes me think bad thoughts. (Popoholic)
Miley Cyrus gets naked…again…for V magazine. (Huffington Post)
Alessandra Ambrosio is in her underwear in Vogue Brazil. (COED)
Amber Heard topless. That is all. (Hollywood Tuna)
Lizzy Caplan is a master of sex in her panties. See what I did there? (Drunken Stepfather)
In a battle of veracity between TMZ and social media hoaxers, there’s no clear way to pick the more reliable source. TMZ has a reporting accuracy of 12-percent, while people making up shit on Twitter sit at zero-percent, though far more self-aware and entertaining. Joan Rivers went into cardiac arrest during what is being described as out-patient throat surgery this morning. I’ll take that to mean tightening the Shar-Pei flaps billowing around her gizzard. She was rushed to Mount Sinai where nobody who knows shit currently knows her condition. But the celebrity media loves them some life cycle events. They pen obituaries and tributes in advance so they can publish while the fingertips are still warm. Not such a bad idea really as far as death hacks. I just didn’t mind for Joan, just in case.
Joan Rivers, occasionally funny, always cunty, the gays have lost a solid crone. RIP. Or see you on Fashion Police next Friday. Whichever way this turns.
Photo credit: E! Television