Singer Rihanna took the field at BET’s ‘106 & Park’ in New York yesterday with a new tousled bob and dressed to the nines. And by “to the nines” I of course mean “like a Navajo hooker at soccer practice.” GOOOOAAL!!
After months of claiming to be “just friends,” singer Rihanna has finally been busted making out with R&B star Chris Brown. The Daily Mail says
The couple traveled to neighboring Jamaica together on Friday for Rihanna’s performance at the Smile Jamaica Africa Unite Bob Marley on Saturday. They were photographed kissing in a swimming pool at the Hilton Kingston Hotel in the Jamaican capital. A fellow hotel guest said: “They were smooching in the pool. They were playfully making out and he was kissing her on the neck.”
So they were kissing. Big deal. That doesn’t mean anything. Really, if I had a dollar for every dude who groped me in a pool, or in a bar — or on pool table in a bar — I’d be retired by now. What’s important here is that “Smile Jamaica Africa Bob Marley” sounds like something dreamed up by the nice ladies down at “Super Happy So Beautiful Nail” and “Poo Ping’s Yum Yum Palace.”
Me love you long time:
For shits and giggles, vintage Rihanna stinking it up at her high school talent show:
There was plenty of shockingly awful (see futuristic Tina and Beyonce, above) fug at last night’s Grammys awards show. I find that like stink on a gorilla, fashion disasters seem almost intrinsic to an award show. The more stink, the merrier.
And speaking of stink, let’s start with Nas and girlfriend Kelis, promoting his new album “Nigger” and what’s sure to be a big hit with college-educated African-Americans everywhere — his new fashion line NegroWear!TM:
Rihanna did her best wounded exotic bird in a ruffled cobalt blue Zac Posen disaster. I see they got the feathers, but for the tar, try Nas’s NegroWear!TM brand lynchin’ tar:
Miley Cyrus and her devil eyes showed up in a white sequined Celine dress and hair extensions she forgot to curl:
Beyonce donned a hideous beaded tulle Elie Saab gown she probably borrowed from Candyland’s Princess Frostine:
Melissa Joan Hart’s dress is okay; her hair color, lack of makeup and general fatness are not. I know she’s pregnant, but that’s way too much bloat:
Cher came in costume as Goth Cowardly Lion.
Carrie Underwood’s floral Zuhair Murad isn’t great, but it isn’t fabulous, either. It’s the hair helmet that bothers me. It looks like a damn tranny wig:
The Bland and Borings American Music Awards were last night, and I, like you, really don’t give a shit. People magazine regales us with
The American Idol vibe was alive and well at the 35th Annual American Music Awards. Idol alum Carrie Underwood picked up three more trophies… for favorite country album, favorite country female artist and an audience text-in award for favorite artist.
Chris Daughtry, the other nominated Idol, joined his eponymous band Daughtry at the podium three times as they won favorite pop-rock album for Daughtry, as well as breakthrough artist and adult contemporary artist. The night’s other big winners included Akon (soul/R&B male), Rihanna (soul/R&B female), and Justin Timberlake (pop/rock male and soul/R&B album).
Well, I distinctly remember Color Me Badd winning an American Music Award in ‘92. Same goes for Michael Bolton (’93), Kenny G (’94), and Ace of Base (’95). So instead of doling out an American Music Award, you could just hand Carrie Underwood a couple of dog turds laying in a pile of glitter and and call it a day. I’m sure it would mean just as much.
Carrie Underwood:
Kellie Pickler:
Rihanna:
Fergie:
Although Rihanna recenttly confirmed that she’s dating actor Josh Hartnett, this photo here suggests she might like boobs. I have verified through several credible sources that Josh Hartnett does not, in fact, have boobs. Nor does he have a similarly massive forehead or drawn-on angry eyebrows. It was also noted that he would never wear that shade of yellow because he’s a winter. So based on this collaborative research, I’m 78% sure that Josh Hartnett might actually be a gay. They don’t call me “The Encyclopedia Brown of the Gossip World”* for nothin’!
*Mostly I just call me that.
Rihanna at the Wild 94.9 Boo Bomb in San Jose the day before Halloween:
So the Grammy Awards were last night. I took minute-by-minute notes as show progressed so that those of you who didn’t catch it could enjoy the full Grammys experience. Oh, and I put up a shot of Jennifer Aniston topless, just because.
7:58 p.m. — Two minutes ’till showtime. Two bottles of liquor, a microwave burrito, and half a pack of cigarettes just within reach for maximum viewing pleasure.
8:00 p.m. — The show opens with Sting and The Police performing their hit song “Roxanne.” I play that fun drinking game where one of you drinks whenever Sting sings “Put on the red light” and the other person drinks whenever he sings “Roxanne.” But there was just me, so I had a lot of drinking to do. Still fun.
8:05 p.m. — One bottle of Jager, one burrito, eight smokes left.
8:30 p.m. — The phone rings. An ex-boyfriend wants to “come over and talk.” Probably without his pants. I say no, I’m doing important work right now. He argues. During this phone call somebody won something, possibly the Dixie Chicks, who won approximately 7,426 Grammys last night.
8:45 p.m — Justin Timberlake looks gay while singing one of his lame-ass songs. I mean really gay. I feed the burrito to the dog because I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.
9:12 p.m. — Mary J. Blige wins “Best R & B Song.”
9:30 p.m. — Something weird is in my belly button. It has a smell. I do a couple of shots of Jager.
10:15 p.m. — Somebody else wins something, but the dog has diarrhea courtesy of the beef burrito, so I’m too busy cleaning it up to notice.
10:28 p.m. — I balance my cigarette on the arm of the couch to better inspect my belly button.
10:31 p.m. — Carrie Underwood wins “Best New Artist” and the Dixie Chicks win something else, probably “Most Useless Who-Gives-a-Shit Band.”
10:37 p.m. — I notice the couch is smoldering.
10:38 p.m. — Note to self: Jager does NOT put out a fire.
10:40 p.m.– The smoke alarm goes off.
10:48 p.m. — The dog has more diarrhea. Justin Timberlake wins “Best Dance Recording.” The two are not related. Or are they?
10:52 p.m. — I throw up.
11: 12 p.m. — I throw up again.
3:47 a.m. — I wake up. It seems that the Grammys are over. The couch is completely charred on one side, there’s puke in my hair, and the whole room smells like ass. Dog ass. I wish I still had my burrito.
And there you have it. It’s like you were there, wasn’t it? For the complete list of the night’s winners, click here.
All of the fug after the jump
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