Baboon/drag queen hybrid Christina Aguilera launched her new fragrance “Inspire” at the Herald Square Macy’s in New York yesterday. As always, her tits were front and center. Well, not so much center, exactly. Maybe front and “decidedly askew.” Front and “one at five; one at nine.” Front and “you need to fucking sue your plastic surgeon already because you could piece together chunks of RuPaul blindfolded using nothing but silly putty and a caulking gun and it’d still look more like a woman than you ever will, you hideous silicone freak of nature.” Ah, semantics, shemantics!
Among the topics touched upon in the [October 2008 Details] interview: Radcliffe’s dream role. “I think part of me would love to play a drag queen, just because it would be an excuse to wear loads of eye makeup,” the actor tells the magazine.
You know another good excuse to wear loads of eye makeup? Having a vagina and fallopian tubes. Being gay is a close second.
Lily Allen got drunk and belligerent last night at the GQ Man of the Year Awards, which is awesome in and of itself, but especially awesome when you consider she was the one hosting the awards show. According to the Daily Mail
When Miss Allen came to announce ‘…and now the most important part of the night’, [so-host] Elton John chipped in ‘What? Are you going to have another drink?’ She fired back: ‘Fuck off Elton. I am 40 years younger than you and have my whole life ahead of me!’
The shocked audience fell silent. A clearly rattled Elton replied ‘I could still snort you under the table’. To which she replied: ‘Fuck off. I don’t know what you are talking about.’ When Sir Elton made reference to 82-year-old crooner Tony Bennett’s age as he was given the Inspiration Award, Miss Allen interrupted: “I’ll still fuck him.”
She also drunkenly blurted out the news that her brother had got engaged to girlfriend Jaime Winston, much to the couple’s shock since they had not even circulated the news among their friends.
Miss Allen could be seen pouring herself champagne from a bottle she had hidden behind the lectern, gulping it down in between awards, and finally slumping down at the back of the stage. Such was her state that she barely made it off the stage after the awards ended. She went on to drink even more champagne at the afterparty and had to be helped out to her car by her ever-present bodyguard.
I remember my guidance counselor telling me that binge-drinking to the point of black out was just a “cry for help.” But did you also that it’s also a cry for “I’ll let you put it in my bottom” and “please feel free to take my wallet”? Some of us had to learn that lesson the hard way.
The trailer’s up for Lindsay Lohan’s new turd of a movie, and boy is it everything you’d imagined it to be. Trite, painfully unfunny, bereft of any real effort or originality and packed with kind of no-name d-listers that ooze out of the bowels of SNL and cling to Hollywood’s listless asshole like a couple of metaphorical dingleberries. I guess what I’m really saying is that pretty much any “shit” metaphor works here. I’m also saying that you should keep a roll of Charmin near your desk if you plan on watching the whole thing. It’s the cinematic equivalent of doing cannonballs with Metamucil and Ex-Lax.
Vladimir Putin nails some serious kitty. (Ninja Dude)
Lindsay Lohan skips out on her grandfather’s wake. In your fuckin’ face, Daddy! (MollyGood)
A flatulent rip in the space/time continuum, a wet fart that smells vaguely of Matthew McConaughey’s underarms and Perez Hilton’s swamp-ass. I give you — Disaster Movie! (Pajiba)
When did Britney Spears get all hot again?! (CelebNewsWire)
Minnie Driver is about to drop a load of baby. (pretty boring)
In more shocking celebrity news, it seems that being under the employ of anal perfectionist control freak Madonna isn’t as much fun as it sounds. Gasp! Madge’s world tour crew are reportedly this close to walking out on the Queen of Pop after being shipped EasyJet and dumped in a cheap hotel while she wallowed in Caligulan excess. According to Digital Spy
Things went from bad to worse when [the crew] discovered they would be staying at a [$100]-per-night hotel… while Madonna [flew] out to France on a private jet with her family and stayed at the luxury Chateau Saint Jeannet castle at a cost of [$22,000].
[An insider said], “Trouble has been brewing for a few months in the Madonna camp. Everyone is absolutely furious with her and some of them want to walk out of the tour. They feel they are being treated like second-class citizens, despite all their hard work. They are being forced to stay in horrible places and fly on cheap low-cost flights, while she has the lap of luxury.”
I suppose you could go on tour with Madonna, but you could just as easily go on tour with a bear you roused from hibernation with a cattle prod. Six of one, really. And unless you have buzz saws for hands and cry Holy Water tears, you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell surviving Madonna. At least the bear never makes you lick its shoe and call it “Esther.”
At the “RocknRolla” world premiere in London yesterday:
The first pics of Halle Berry’s baby Nahla were snapped while Halle and mother Judy took in the L.A. Zoo over the weekend. What a little darling! Halle Berry sure makes for a pretty child. You know, standing there next to her blonde mother, holding her blue-eyed child, the product of a French-Canadian caucasoid partner, I’m just reminded of all the things Halle Berry has done for all those “nameless, faceless women of color out there.” That is, surround herself with white people and get a nose job and hair extensions. She’s breaking boundaries, that one!
Thanks to a couple of well-placed surveillance cameras, actor Josh Hartnett is the unwitting star of a SoHo hotel sex tape. MSNBC says
Josh and his female companion entered what they believed was a secluded area of the hotel, a little-used library, and drew the curtains before getting cozy.
“Josh and the girl were getting pretty hot and heavy,” said the source who watched to actor’s actions on the hotel’s monitor. “Unfortunately the hotel has security cameras all over the place — the library included.” Several members of the hotel staff huddled around the monitor, but the source said, “No one quite knew where to look and there was a very awkward silence.”
No one knew where to look? Was the hotel doubling as the headquarters for the Jehovah’s Witnesses or something? The only time your eyes would even need to leave the screen is if you zipper gets caught in your underpants or to find the pause/rewind button for the good parts. Everybody knows “masturbation” and “work” go together like “peas” and “restraining orders!”
Amy Winehouse’s little “adverse reaction to medication” back in July has been exposed as — wait for it — another drug overdose. You didn’t see that one comin’, did you? Only this one might have been the final straw for Amy’s over-taxed cerebrum. A close pal of Amy’s told The Sun
“She had smoked an inhuman amount of hash which resulted in acute cannabis poisoning [vomiting uncontrollably and hallucinating]. You have to take a [shitload] of pot to suffer that severe a reaction. It’s thought she had been smoking it for 36 hours. Amy’s fits were as bad as the convulsions she had during her overdose in August last year. No one has mentioned her meth use before – but that stuff is truly nasty.”
Medics are worried Amy’s brain was damaged by the cannabis overdose – she displayed symptoms normally associated with schizophrenia.
First of all, hash doesn’t cause epileptic fits and seizures. Epilepsy does. Secondly, you couldn’t smoke enough hash to “poison” yourself in one night. Meth, yes; hashish, no. Hell, you couldn’t eat enough hashish to poison yourself in one night. In fact, I had a brick of hashish for breakfast, and I’ve never been better. I start every day with a little of the Black Gold. Sometimes I sprinkle a little over my granola; I might fold it into an omelet with capers and a side of lox, or just dig in with a spoon and eat it straight, but one thing’s for damn sure — I have no idea where I was going with this. Remembering is hard!
Unless you have short-term memory issues (read: smoke a lot of pot), you probably remember these pictures of Kristin Bell in a bikini. Well, here she is again, this time in lingerie in Maximal Magazine, which appears to be the poor Yugoslavian smelter’s version Maxim. Sama sebi škoditi! Only 300 dinars per issue! Come with free pohati and endemic nephropathy screening. Won’t you order today?
Good thing they don’t give out medals for ass-banditry, because fourteen-time Olympic medalist Michael Phelps would have snagged another gold for snatching up a hot piece of Carrie Underwood. The Enquirer says
Michael was over the moon after hearing a rumor that the one-time American Idol thinks he is “cute.” According to celebrity tattles on-site at the 2008 Beijing Summer Olympics, the twentysomethings are frequently texting each other and have already begun planning a “quiet first date” near Carrie’s home in Nashville, Tennessee.
The 23-year-old athlete told Carrie, “I’m not so sure you’d want to see me eat! It might not make a great first impression.”
You wanna know what does make a really good impression on a first date? Home video of that time you danced Agamemnon at Jacob’s Pillow. Gets you to third every time. Wait, “third” is still “masturbating alone with your mom’s Cosmopolitan,” right? Yeah, third base, every time. Guaranteed.
