Lindsay Lohan had more than half of her already bogus community service hours stemming from a reckless driving incident thrown out. Lohan was having her hours managed and verified by a charity called Community Service Volunteers. Once it was discovered they were happily cheating on her behalf because she blew the guy who signs the papers Lohan somehow arranged for her insurance company to donate $10,000 to them. This Saran Wrap ploy pissed off anyone still paying attention, limited to TMZ trolls and the judge in the case. Lohan will now have to repeat half the hours where she will inevitably show up drunk and be sent to the pokey only to be released on a medical waiver because they only carry synthetic Valtrex. This cycle will continue until she perishes in the frozen wild with a complacent grin on her face. Maybe it’s just the Botox.
In Italy, they call their porn stars ‘erotic models’. I find that a bit more dignified. My grandfather used to call bourbon his ‘medicine’ and the meter maid’s cars say ‘parking services’ on the side. Names are important. For instance, the precise names of the bacteria this Italian erotic model is leeching into U.S. coastal waters off of Miami Beach. Why should the American taxpayers be forced to cover the cost to contain and dredge your water-borne cocci? In the very least I’d like her to fashion something like those BP commercials talking about how the Gulf spill was good for jobs and good for America. We accept sweet lies. If your crabs are killing the sharks that eat thousands of children in South Florida each year, set it to Lee Greenwood and let me know. I’ll pony up.
Taylor Swift barely beat out a woman in Sierra Leone who breastfeeds Ebola babies to be named Elle Woman of the Year. It was that close, with the pop music star’s agreement to show a little titty and buy out six VIP tables giving her the slight edge. You’ve got to pick somebody. Other awards at the event when to Rosie Huntington-Whiteley for aging out of modeling gracefully at twenty-seven and to Simon Cowell for banging a baby into his friend’s wife and not letting it ruin his summer. A bunch of awards went to fat people for not bitching about their segregation backstage in the world of style and fashion. Rebel Wilson punched a constable and bit the Queen’s veiny leg but Taylor Swift ordered her pardoned and everybody went home with something to talk about. Just one more year until the next Elle Awards!
This chick is often modeling for that insidious bottled water company, but I don’t see any overpriced style water within an eyeshot of her ass I keep virtually molesting. Perhaps she’s now just posing on the beach for the love of humanity. Or finding a reasonably well off man to pay for her to finish high school as she promised her foster dad the day he was led away by cops who don’t understand that love has no rules. So many questions, so few answers. But damn, that ass.
There are a precious few occupations that require you cover your nipples in a thick gooey paste. One would be male kindergarten teacher and even then it’s really just a personal preference. I can’t think of the others. Christina Milian now has a reality show putting her in an exclusive club of just under 2,732 individuals making their living by faking real life drama for people who are definitely starting the gym tomorrow. What kind of example would Milian set by letting her nipples be seen in public? Not a good one. Glue that shit up. You want to make lots of easy money, not defile the universe.
Kelly Osbourne remains a mystery. A not particularly fetching woman without particular skills who seems to make numerous work place demands. Osbourne is threatening to leave Fashion Police if the racist air is not cleared regarding Giuliana Rancic’s not racist comment about Zendaya Coleman’s fake dreadlocks at the Oscars. You could ask why the zaftig hobnobber has inserted herself needlessly in the middle of this fake controversy, but then you’d be missing her entire reason for being. E! producers on break from praising their Demon Lord for the Kardashians and stupid people forced Rancic to issue a rote on-air apology to Zendaya for reading somebody else’s tired, but not-racist joke.
That amends rings nearly as hollow as Rancic herself. But it allows Osbourne to claim the mantle of race relations maven and helps teach our young people valuable lessons about pantomimed remorse and the value in being universally offended. I hope Joan Rivers is haunting these horrible people in their bedrooms at night. Preferably in naked ghost form.
Reality stars devoid of personality used to release a Hi-8 of their genitals and otherwise leave us alone. Now they want to pretend to do shit. DJ’ing is the perfect solution since a retard could do it in a Sebring while driving 100 mph. Pawn Stars’ cast member Chumlee recently picked up a gig at the Palms in Vegas. It’s unclear what he got paid but I’d stand around with headphones on just for the rider:
“1 pair of Hawaiian Nike Dunk SB’s… Dinner at the N9NE Steakhouse for his crew… A basketball suite for a pick-up game after the show… Waitresses to escort him to the stage… Girl Scout cookies (Thin Mints and Peanut Butter Patties… 2 Nerf basketball hoops and 5 Nerf guns.”
Not sure why anyone would pay money to watch the fat guy from that one show play Avicii on an iPod but I don’t go out much anymore. Where do you go to school for that? I salute Chumlee for taking whatever potential he had as a person, throwing it onto 32 red and hitting the fucking jackpot. Milk this cow and bank as many blow jobs and shwagged out suites as humanly possible. God knows this won’t last forever. Will it?