By Matt November 24, 2014 @ 6:29 AM
Katy Perry was trying to enjoy a quiet day butt naked at a nude beach in Australia like the Constitution mandates and started getting hassled by photographers. To not draw attention to themselves the paparazzi stripped naked as well and continued bothering Perry and her friends and probably jerked off in some bushes. They apparently snapped some photos of Perry’s lady parts and offered to trade them for some bikini posing shots. At this point Perry said fuck it, tucked her labia in, and wrote a solid Twitter diatribe.
Point Perry. Not for spelling obviously. But that sicko comment had to hurt a guy going for a $100,000 paycheck for five minutes of work. Katy posted retaliations photos of the other paparazzi in an apparent attempt at shaming because like holocaust deniers paparazzi are so very easily shamed. At some point you just have to chalk it up to the fact you’ve made a fortune in large part because you’ve got a body people want to see naked. I’d make it more of a game. Take off your clothes in more places and hire a special forces sniper who takes out the paparazzi who go for the golden snap. Maybe he doesn’t need to kill them, just assure they will never walk again with a shot to the spine. It’s that or more nasty Tweets and I think we all know which is more humane.
Photo Credit: Twitter
By Lex November 18, 2014 @ 11:23 AM
Katy Perry really is sassy, adjective adjacent from annoying and super fucking irritating. She has mastered the fine line of being sexy and edgy while dressing like your grandma and guffawing like your gay work friend Nick. It has to be the big chest. Otherwise, it’s inexplicable. Her team of press agents work the magazines like none other, planting stories of Katy’s Hello Kitty happy cheeks character while virtually eviscerating any hint of her extensive baggage and crying into the bidets in the evening. Sassy. You don’t have time for that.
Photo Credit: Instagram
By Lex October 06, 2014 @ 10:19 AM
Katy Perry was a special guest on ESPN College Gameday early Saturday morning and predicted the dual upsets of Mississippi State over Texas A&M and Ole Miss over Alabama. Katy Perry either wildly guessed and was very lucky, or she’s actually more football astute than the entire useless cluster of middle aged football analysts who blather shit that turns out to be as often wrong as right. Once Katy got loaded and started diving into a college town bar crowd in her short skirt, the football knowledge thing was moot. She should host College Gameday. Just no fucking singing.
Photo Credit: Twitter, Vine
By Lex September 10, 2014 @ 12:11 PM
Taylor Swift and Katy Perry are currently decrying one another for not being as gumdrops and sunshine as their public personas. Girls calling each other fake or phony is the Hellish pit bottom in terms of derogatory name calling. It even trumps slut which implies some level of success with the opposite gender. Even bitch sounds like Joan Collins running a fashion empire. There’s no way to spin phony.
Katy has had many talks with and heard stories from John Mayer about Taylor and she’s convinced [Taylor Swift] is a conniving bitch, who is only out to benefit herself. Katy dislikes fake people and she thinks that Taylor is the queen of fake people. Katy can read through all of Taylor’s bullshit. — so says an unnamed source.
So, basically, I fucked your ex-boyfriend while we mocked you. I can see how that could rile up Taylor Swift. I can even picture John Mayer’s wry smile as he’s feeding Katy stories, and, naturally, his cock. For Taylor’s original part, she’s saying the exact same thing about Katy Perry.
She would come up to me at awards shows and say something and walk away, and I would think, ‘Are we friends, or did she just give me the harshest insult of my life?
Taylor also accused Katy Perry of stealing her backup dancers, which in the world of elaborate lip-synched stage performances is like accusing somebody of stealing your last tampon. You’re just a monster.
I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know anything about girl fights. Unless there’s hair pulling and bitch slapping like on WorldstarHipHop, I don’t see the path by which women come to resolution in their disputes. That’s probably why my grandmother hasn’t spoken to her sister in over sixty years while an Irish guy at a bar can forgive a man who fucked his sister within three punches. Until Katy and Taylor start ripping clothes, I’m done with this dispute.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI
By Lex August 28, 2014 @ 1:24 PM
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
By Lex July 31, 2014 @ 9:47 AM
Katy Perry put it out there. Be the right guy to stuff a baby inside of me or I will go baster. The precise spermatozoa cocktail Katy intends to bathe her eggs in remains unclear. She could have each of her former boyfriends jizz into the 500ml beaker and slam that mix home such that none will ever no who is the true birth father. Or she could go completely rogue and mount a homeless man with good bone structure.
I don’t need a dude. I mean, Neil [Patrick Harris] and David [Burtka], their twins are beautiful.
Good point. Although, those are actually two dudes, so not a great point.
It’s 2014! We are living in the future; we don’t need anything. I don’t think I’ll have to, but we’ll see. I’m not anti-men. I love men. But there is an option if someone doesn’t present himself.
As a child, I always dreamed of living in the future. That happened. But my future was flying cars and far more tactile realistic cyberporn. Hollywood women have been taking matters into their own hands for years now when it comes to purchasing or implanting babies so they can fulfill their maternal longings. You do need a pint-sized showpiece for all those Pixar premieres. Many people worry that women are abusing their new power to produce offspring with just their wombs and a decent credit card limit. That seems shortsighted. If a vanity baby with a stupid name prevents Katy Perry from writing just one more song, it’s a small price to pay.