Maybe it’s because I spent most of my weekend doing pre-Christmas things (hanging a wreath, wrapping presents, getting stoned and eating an entire gingerbread house) but that candy striping sort of makes Iggy Azalea and Jennifer Lopez like the two horniest elves at the North Pole that Santa put in charge of testing the vibrators. They make vibrators at the North Pole, right?
Moving on. So
New Fergie Iggy Azalea and JLo performed their ass anthem “Booty” last night at the American Music Awards, and I know the pearl-clutchers at ABC were worried they were going to bring the R-rated middle-aged stripper raunch by rubbing their poop shutes against each other while miming sex faces, but it ended up being pretty tame. Sure, JLo and Iggy dry humped each other like two skanky ferrets in costumes from the Slutty Showgirl collection, but they were also wearing Hooters tights. Hooters tights! Nothing says “Shows over, boners” like those fugly thick shimmer-knit leg wraps.
But this wasn’t Iggy’s only performance of the night; earlier in the evening she got to act like she wasn’t completely embarrassed to be the Macklemore of the AMAs by beating out Drake and Eminem for the Best Rap/Hip Hop Award. She then followed that up by opening her performance of “Fancy” with a bunch of vaguely Black Panther-y imagery. Needless to say, Iggy Azalea was not Twitter’s favorite person last night:
I see why 50 Shades of Grey needed to do reshoots. – BlairBear
They met on Timber. – Shadeball
Bleona, the Madonna of Albania and the bright spot of sheer elegance at last night’s dreadful American Music Awards!
I’ve been meaning to write about this demure, graceful and rational Albanian blossom ever since I started watching Bravo’s newest staged reality train wreck Euros of Hollywood. If you’ve never seen that mess, you’re probably looking at the title with question mark eyes while wondering what’s it about. I know, Bravo is always so unclear with their titles. Euros of Hollywood is about Euros of Hollywood.
The dudes on Euros of Hollywood are hot, buff, tacky and dumb (just the way we all like ‘em!), but the main reason to watch that trash pile of messiness is for BLEONA! Bleona is like a character that Maya Rudolph would’ve created on SNL. She’s train wreck perfection. She’s as delusional as she is unapologetically bitchy. She’s as sarcastic as she is glamorous. She’s a rhinestone-encrusted disaster and she breaths life into me every time she cuts those other whores with her words of sarcasm.
Bleona tells us at least once an episode that she’s the Madonna of Albania and sells out stadiums in her country. She said (and I’m paraphrasing) that nearly 1 in 3 Albanians have a poster of her hanging on their wall. Bleona’s talent, beauty and glamour is much too big for Albania, so she came to the US a few years ago to conquer the states! But because in America we like our pop stars bland, basic, boring and strangely doll-like (see: Selena, Ariana Grande Latte and Swifty), Bleona hasn’t taken over the charts and she probably couldn’t sell out a free concert in a party space at a small park. If you ask anybody if they know who Bleona is, they’ll probably say, “Yes, of course, it’s delicious with mayo and Wonder Bread.”
But I have a feeling all that is about to change thanks to last night. Bleona, who kind of looks like a second tier Angelina Jolie impersonator circa 1998, shot into the American Music Awards like a fishnetted sparkly star of demure sophistication. She looked like Rose McGowan’s backwash mixed with the inside of Miley Cyrus’ laundry hamper. Bleona proves that the most original way to get attention is to do something that dozens have done before.
If you’re still not sold on Bleona, this will sell you. Here’s what Bleona drives:
A vehicle that’s as understated and classy as its driver. She’s a 14k gold-covered Angelyne. Don’t be too surprised in a few years when Madonna is on an Albanian reality show called Americans of Albania and says, “I am the Bleona of the US. Or I was the Bleona of the US until the real Bleona took over!”
Billy Connolly (72)
Sarah Hyland (24)
Karine Vanasse (31)
Katherine Heigl (36)
Colin Hanks (37)
Stephen Merchant (40)
Shirley Henderson (49)
Garret Dillahunt (50)
Ruben Santiago-Hudson (58)
Linda Tripp (65)
Lee Michaels (69)
Phoebe Price must’ve been booked for a more prestigious event (see: the opening of an El Pollo Loco in Cerritos, the 3 year anniversary of a Popeye’s in Van Nuys, etc…), because the producers of the American Music Awards dipped into the desperate pile when hiring seat fillers for the night. Case in point: Frankie Grande Latte is there.
No, I’m just dripping with gay jealousy as usual. Of course Frankie Grande is there. He’s a worldwide social media mogul and the brother of the most famous pop star that has ever graced this universe. Frankie Grande isn’t nominated (because unfortunately they don’t give out an award for Most Delusional Brother Of A Singing Bratz Doll) and as far as I know, he isn’t presenting anything, so he kept his look demure, modest and subtle by wearing an outfit from the House Of LOOK AT ME’s Spring 2015 collection.
Frankie wore a painted on t-shirt, because how else is going to get attention? He looks like a dancer from a Chippendale’s in Candyland. He also looks like a smug, douchey flamingo who works the morning shift at the MAC counter and the afternoon shift at the airbrush t-shirt place in the mall.
Well, the good news for people at the AMAs is that they have a really good reason to not hug Frankie Grande Latte when he tries to hug them.
Kirk Cameron has been on a roll lately. The child star turned evangelical turd is on a mission to save Christmas (and whatever is left os his diarrhea dingle of a career) and he recently shat up a stocking coal of a movie called Kirk Cameron’s Saving Christmas. Kirk’s latest shit show is only at 8% (with an audience score of 39%) on Rotten Tomatoes and most critics say watching it is like opening up a box full of wet dog caca. Kirk has been begging his “fans” to flood Rotten Tomatoes with positive reviews to bring his movie’s percentage up. It’s what Jesus would want them to do. While in the middle of desperately trying to take his movie from rotten to fresh, Everything Is Terrible posted an entertainingly fucked up supercut of Kirk Cameron and some other dude talking about gays on The Way Of The Master Television.
If You’re A Slob Ass Reporter In Jeans, Don’t Even Think Of Talking To Duchess Kate And Prince William
Duchess Kate and Prince William are coming to the East Coast of the US in a couple of weeks, because they want to spit in the faces of the traitors who busted out of their country a million years ago and they probably also want to fill their guts with Shake Shack. Politico (via The NY Post) says that to prepare for their visit to the US, the British Monarchy has shat up a dress code for any American reporter who wants to talk to their royal highnesses. If you even think about asking Duchess Kate a question while looking like wrinkled, busted up trash, the royal guards will tackle you and drag you away. A dude who happens to be a royal because he was born into it and a chick who clung onto his ass until he married her deserves your utmost respect! Here’s the official dress code from the royal family:
Journalists wishing to cover Royal engagements, whether in the United Kingdom or abroad, should comply with the dress code on formal occasions out of respect for the guests of The Queen, or any other member of the Royal Family.
Smart attire for men includes the wearing of a jacket and tie, and for women a trouser or skirt suit. Those wearing jeans or trainers will not be admitted and casually dressed members of the media will be turned away. This also applies to technicians.
Didn’t this country’s forefathers bust out of Britain because they were sick of being told what to do and now they’re still bossing us around! Duchess Kate isn’t our duchess and Prince William isn’t our prince so why in the hell do we have to wash our pits, put on a clip-on tie and change out of sweats to hang around them? I bet Duchess Kate and Prince William are the type to demand that I change out of my usual home outfit of torn underwear, a shorty robe and mismatched socks when they invite themselves over. The AUDACITY!
I’m sure that when Prince Hot Ginge is involved that dress code is tweaked to read: “and chonies or optional.” Because it’s impossible to keep your chonies on when in the presence of PHG.
Games of Thrones is filled more tits than Hugh Hefner’s prune mouth during a conveyor belt orgy and many fans (and hos like me who don’t watch all the time but would if it was peen-ier) have screamed for less rape and MOAR DIK! Seen above throwing a face that says, “My lady nipples are on strike until GoT gets more peen,” Natalie Dormer tells The Daily Beast that GoT could definitely use several more servings of man salchicha. The Daily Beast brought up the “Show Us Dem Titties” mandate that HBO apparently has and asked Natalie Dormer if she thinks GoT should throw a bone (or several) at the peen lovers who watch the show. The Bitchy Resting Face Duchess said this about shoving more dick into GoT:
“Well, during the first season Alfie, Richard, and several of the men got naked—although not all the way. I suppose it’s just the rules of broadcast television, isn’t it? I think Thrones has been better than your average show with the equality, but they could definitely ramp it up! Absolutely.”
Here! Here! Fill that show with more dicks of all shapes, sizes and colors. Just none of that fake prosthetic shit like the crap Hodor wore. That thing looked like a cross between an uncooked turkey sausage and the arm of a pantyhose doll.
To quote a power bottom at an orgy when two tops ask if him if he can handle a DP, “You can never have TOO many dicks.” So GoT should just shove all the dicks in there and they should even recast some of the roles with peens. What I mean by that is that the Hammaconda should totally play one of the dragons.
ATC, the international pop group from the 90s and early 00s who took you around the world and filled your ears with a whole lot of Vitamin C (C for class)!
Tonight is the American Music Awards (aka the unpopular, black sheep third cousin of the Grammys who nobody talks to at family reunions because they smell like desperation and mustiness) and while going through the dreadful lineup of dreadful pop hos (see: Selena Gomez, 5 Seconds of Summer, Ariana Grande Latte, One Direction, etc… etc…) who will poop out their dreadful pop songs during the show, I asked myself whatever happened to true musical talent in the pop music world? Whatever happened to talent like ATC?
ATC was a German-based pop group made up of a Kiwi, an Italian, an Australian and a Brit. They were the accidental toilet baby of the It’s A Small World ride and Aqua. They had a couple of semi-hits, but their biggest hit was the 2000 eardrum assault called “Around The World (La La La La La).” “Around The World” was a cover of a Russian pop song and it sounded like something Eiffel 65 barfed up. That song was everywhere. It was even in commercials. You know you danced to it on a box under a strobe light at an 18 and over club.
Once it got in your head, it was hard to get out. Whenever I get my usual check-up at the free clinic, the free clinic doctor looks into my ears with that ear dildo thing and asks, “What is that crusty white stuff clinging to the walls of your ears? Jizz?” And I always say, “No doctor, it’s pieces from that La La La La song which have been there for years.”
ATC broke up in 2003, but they will forever and ever live on thanks to this Euro ear worm:
FYI: ATC stands for A Touch Of Class. If you didn’t already know that, you probably figured it out after looking at that gorgeous Siegfried & Roy plushie heaven of a picture.
Maxwell Caulfield (55)
Miley Cyrus (22)
Lucas Grabeel (30)
Kelly Brook (35)
Allison Mosshart (36)
Chris Adler (42)
Chris Hardwick (43)
Zoë Ball (44)
Oded Fehr (44)
Salli Richardson-Whitfield (47)
Vincent Cassel (48)
Robin Roberts (54)
Bruce Hornsby (60)
Rick Bayless (61)
B.J. Crosby (62)
Bruce Vilanch (66)
Joe Eszterhas (70)
Robert Towne (80)