RDJ

In a hospital room in L.A. somewhere, a newborn baby is staring into the face of Iron Man while secretly wishing that his daddy will introduce him to ScarJo's magnificent chichi balls. People says that Robert Downey Jr.'s wife Susan birthed out a 7lb 5oz, 20-inch long (because I know you were wondering how long their baby is) baby son in L.A. this morning. RDJ has been Sherlock Holmes for way too long, because the motherfucker thinks he's British now. RDJ and Susan named their new baby friend Exton Elias. EXTON ELIAS. Exton is going to coo in a British accent, will force his nanny to push his stroller on the left side of the sidewalk and has probably already been knighted as a Sir by Queen Elizabeth.

Exton is RDJ and Susan's first kid together. He has an 18-year-old son named Indio. RDJ's rep said this generic shit to People:

“Everyone is healthy and they couldn’t be happier."

Just once I'd like the rep to say that everyone is sick, miserable and hating each other.

When I say the name "Exton" out loud, it sort of sounds like the name of a driver on Downton Abbey or like the name of a rejected Harry Potter character. But when I say it in my head, it sounds like the name of a discount oil company that is hoping cross-eyed hos and drunk bitches mistake the name of their gas station for EXXON. And you know the kids are going to call him Sexton.

That's the spirit, Mad Mel. If you can't get a trick to blow you before Jacuzzi, do the blowing yourself. I've said it before, if you can't beat 'em, blow 'em, but Mad Mel went above and beyond by blowing and beatin' them at the same time!

Last night in Beverly Hills, the roof of The Beverly Hilton almost cracked and exploded into space from the force of a million swollen egos when Mel Gibson, Sean Penn, Jennifer Aniston, Justin Theroux and Jodie Foster all gathered in one ballroom to honor Robert Downey Jr.'s contribution to American cinema. And by "contribution" they really mean his role in Weird Science.

After Sean Penn, Jennifer Aniston and Mel Gibson all licked on RDJ's taint by showering him with kind words, he used his time on stage to defend his friend Mel. Oh here go hell come....

“This is my fuckin’ time. Mel and I have the same lawyer, same publicist and same shrink. I couldn’t get hired and he cast me. He said if I accepted responsibility – he called it hugging the cactus – long enough my life would take meaning and if he helped me I would help the next guy. But it was not reasonable to assume the next guy would be him.

Unless you are without sin, and if you are you are in the wrong fucking industry, you should forgive him and let him work."

Don't tell us what to do, RDJ....unless you're about to tell us to nibble your nipples in a gentle manner.

The way I see it there's three kind of people:

1. The people who won't forgive Mel Gibson, because he's an anti-Semitic canker sore on a dehydrated asshole and just when they start to feel like he's changed his crusty mouth shits out another racist nugget. The glum cunt just keeps fucking up and he can't even get a blowjob!

2. The people who have forgiven Mel Gibson and can watch his movies without seeing him as the lady-abusing, anti-Semitic canker sore on a dehydrated asshole that he really is.

3. The people who have looked under the bed, searched the cushions of their sofa, checked the back of their fridges and still can't find one fuck to give about Mel Gibson.

Even if we were all #1 people, Mel's dumb stupid busted ass would still be fine. The shitbag has millions and a Jacuzzi jet to keep him company for the rest of his days. RDJ should've saved his words for somebody who really deserves them, like his Soapdish co-star Cathy Moriarty. Now that is a bitch who really needs a major movie comeback in a big way!

Here's more pictures from last night's American Cinematheque Awards. I wish there was a picture of Sean Penn and Mel Gibson together. Together they would look like a wrinkly and crusty old man nutsack glistening under a tanning bed light.

In case you missed it, here's ScarJo, Jeremy Renner, Chris Pine, Robert Downey Jr., Mark Ruffalo and Chris Hemsworth playing dress up on the NYC set of The Avengers on Saturday morning.

You know, if you took everything I know about The Avengers and used it to power your American flag finger vibrator this Labor Day, you'd be the opposite of patriotic because that shit wouldn't bust out one tingle due to the fact that I know absolutely nothing about The Avengers. Nothing. I don't know what their damn costumes do. I don't know why they're running around. I don't know why Jeremy Renner is dressed like a top at a gay leather bar who carries skinny starter dildos in a wine bottle carrier just in case he runs into a trainee bottom who needs a little assistance in the loosening up department. I don't know!

But I do know that The Avengers desperately needs the bulge budget that Superman has.

Well, I guess even Robert Downey Jr.'s wife Susan Downey has that one chismeando auntie who always sits right next to the food table at family reunions to scoop up the gossip with her ear holes so that she can pour it out later through her mouth hole to her husband as he eats the smashed piece of sheet cake she brought him because a stupid soccer game was on TV and he wasn't even trying to go to that party.

(Side rant: Whenever my mom brought me a piece of cake from a party, why did she almost always make it "car ride safe" by stuffing it between two Styrofoam plates before wrapping it in Reynolds? The frosting would always end up on one plate, and the cake on the other. When cake and frosting get together, they're in it until the end. They aren't mean to be separated. It's like giving me a hard dick on one plate and its cum shot on the other. It makes no sense. Cake and frosting work together to make a beautiful special moment and when you tear them apart, you're just fucking with nature. There's got to be a better way.

And if you're about to say to me, "But Michael, what about those individual cake piece containers from Tupperware you can buy at Target," then I'm about to throw you a lip smack and an eye roll on behalf of my entire family. Individual cake piece containers? Bitch, stop. We're not a family of Martha Fucking Stewarts. As far as I know, Juan Pollo, the place we get all of our family reunion food, does not provide you with individual cake piece containers. I KNOW! How uncouthy of them. Although, sometimes I'll wash off one of the Styrofoam containers the chicken came in and use that to take some cake home. But now we're Inceptioning this bitch, because we're about to get into a rant inside of a rant. Let's just stop now. Put on your lip gloss, plump your chichis and let's get back to the main event.)

So Susan's auntie Nancy Miller (it's ALWAYS a Nancy) called up Radar and whispered into their phone pieces that she knows her niece has got an iron fetus growing in her womb:

“I think it’s wonderful that she’s pregnant. The baby is due in February. Susan’s father, my brother, called me about three weeks ago with the good news. Her parents are over the moon about it. It [doesn’t] really matter if it’s a boy or a girl. What really matters is that the baby is healthy.”

No, Tia Nancy, what really matters is that you're dribbling out talk about your niece's uterus situation to hos outside of the family circle and you probably did it for a check. That is ALMOST worse than bringing a bitch smashed cake. But what's even worse than that is putting an OVER THE MOON violation into the mouths of Susan's parents. That's like saying that Susan's parents put on a pair of CROCS and kicked a kitten in the neck. Just illegalness all around.

This will be RDJ and Susan's first baby friend together. RDJ has an almost 18-year-old son named Indio. I really hope RDJ keeps with the Riverside County theme and names his new kid La Quinta.

And as I was about to hit publish on this shit, RDJ just confirmed the news with this statement:

“Robert and Susan could not be more excited over this news. They can’t wait to welcome this new baby into their wonderful family.”

But you're still on notice, Tia Nancy!

One way of shooting the gay rumors into the far distance is to talk about the time you caught a pussy ball with your mouth at a bar in Thailand. And Bradley Cooper did just that on Conan the other night. Todd Phillips, the director of The Hangover II, wanted to take pictures of all the characters acting like drunk fools all over Bangkok. So they all went to this bar and marveled at the skills of one talented trick who could turn her snatch into a ping pong ball launching machine. (Just like my movie idol, Cynthia from Priscilla Queen of the Desert!) B. Coop thought it would be every shade of hilarious if he opened his mouth as the pussy pong ball came flying out and well, I'll let him say it in his words:

"Bangkok is known for these venues where females are able to do things with their nether regions that you wouldn't think they'd normally do. So this one gal was able to eject ping pong balls at high velocities with amazing accuracy. I, being the jackass that I am, was like, 'Let's do one where I'm like (opens mouth).' And I mean, pssssht, right in my mouth. Record skips, handi wipes coming out from everywhere, Ed Helms is throwing up! By the way, that's not the only thing they do."

Now this is the point in a post when I can either take a right by making the obvious joke about how I don't know why everyone was freaking out since B. Coop always has Thai balls in his mouth. Or I can take a left by saying Renee Zellweger is wishing she could squint and launch with her vagina so that B. Coop would've opened his mouth around her every now and again. Or I can just keep my foot on the brake and we can share a joint while looking at these absolutely thrilling pictures from last night's The Hangover II premiere in L.A.

In order: B. Coop in brown, RDJ with his wife, Ed Helms, Zach Galfalafelkisskiss, Alyssa Milano, the pigeon whisperer, Jordin Sparks, Krystal Kardashian, Mr. Jay and Ken Jeong.

It's that time of year again when celebwhores from every list gather in the desert of California and hipster-ize themselves by rolling around in a bin at the Salvation Army and filling their pores with Patchouli! It's Coachella! It felt only fitting to let Tara Reid, who puts the hell in Coachella, lead the way of hos who look like they just fell out of the ass of an Urban Outfitters.

Only Tara the Terrible would wear Lucifer's footwear of choice in 1 million degree weather. You just know the inside of her UGGs are coated with a thick, gooey toe-smegma that is made of whiskey that secretes out of her foot pores and coke dust from an 8-ball she stashed in there years ago. At the end of the night when all the food trucks are closed, Tara can smear that UGGs butter on a piece of cardboard and get drunk high all over again! Actually, Tara might be a genius for that. This is the only time in history I approve of UGGs.

Anyway, here's who joined Tara in sweating their pits off while sucking the nuts of a coco. In order: Penn Badgley with the gay son from Desperate Housewives, RDJ!!!!, Vanessa Hudgens (who needs to know that we already have one Lisa Bonet), Tara, Jack Osbourne, Alessandra Ambrosio with her dude, Nick Simmons, Dita Von Teese, Usher, Danny DeVito, Ashley Greene with that dude from Kings of Leon, The Hoff with his latest leased piece, Kellan Lutz, Paul McCartney, ASkars with Kate Bosworth, Tony Hawk and Bud Bundy.

Hollywood is currently trying to make a Wizard of Oz prequel happen, and apparently Robert Downey Jr. is in talks to play the title role. File this under: "Hold me and tell me how to feel about this, because I just don't know...."

The Los Angeles Times reports that screenwriter Mitchell Kapner has finished a screenplay based on several L. Frank Baum. The script follows a young Wizard as he comes to Oz from Kansas to do wizard shit. Or something. Apparently, the Wizard in the prequel is darker and more complex, which is why producers think Robert Downey Jr. is perfect for the role. Disney is also throwing around Sam Mendes' name as a possible director.

You know, I'm okay with this as long as the new Wizard of Oz syncs up perfectly with a Pink Floyd album. I'll also be extra okay with this if Snooki and Gary Coleman play members of the Lollipop Guild. They need the work.

The Sherlock Holmes premiere was last night in NYC, and this is what Blake Lively wore to that shit.

My space heater is on blast, I've got two pairs of socks on my feet, a heating pad is shoved up in my crack and I'm still cold. So I have to bow down to Blake Lively for not letting something called "weather" fuck with her tramping it up on the red carpet.

I'm sure Blake's vagina is blowing steam and her nipples might have already fell off due to frostbite, but WHO CARES! Cameras are flashing and Blake has a show to put on! Don't let some stupid Snow Miser shit get in the way of you showcasing those chichis!

Other hos, who obviously don't have Blake's dedication, at the premiere were: Jude Law, Robert Downey Jr., Rachel McAdams, Guy Ritchie and Rocco Ritchie.

Here's the trailer that made all nerds ruin their favorite pair of Transformers underoos last night. Okay, I'll admit that I too got the shivers from watching Mickey Rourke whip bitches with his taser arms. You know, I think Kate Gosselin's groomer also uses taser arms to style her rabid possum head.

I just have two gripes about this. First of all, this movie isn't going to feel as baby wipes fresh without Terrence Howard. Second of all, did Kim Zolciak serve as wig consultant on this movie?

Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Homeboy: The Hunt for Jude Law's Next Baby Mama has wrapped up principal photography and is due out this Christmas, but The Mirror claims shit is about to change in a major way. According to sources, Warner Bros. wasn't exactly blowing jizz bombs over the final cut and has demanded that Guy fix it pronto. They want Guy to re-shoot some scenes and add Sherlock's arch rival, the evil Professor Moriarty, to the movie.

After being scolded by mommy and daddy, Guy immediately asked his old Snatch friend Brad Pitt to step in as Moriarty. Luckily for Guy, Brad has an open spot in his schedule and is available for the re-shoots. Brad has already arrived in London and will soon begin shooting.

A source said, “It was an oversight in the film not to make a bigger deal about Moriarty. He is mentioned as Holmes’ arch enemy, but the bosses wanted Guy to make more of him. Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr have already shot their scenes. But now that 10 extra days have been added to shoot the new ones, they may be called back for a day or two."

Because of all the changes, the movie won't open this Christmas and has been pushed into 2010.

Why bother with Benjamin Button's?! I recently read that Guy wanted to explore Sherlock and Watson's homoerotic relationship in this movie, so he could've just added a good old-fashioned ass-to-mouth scene at the end to sell more tickets. Nothing puts hos in seats like gay porn. Besides, I always felt that Watson's face should be covered in man gravy when Sherlock delivers his signature line: "Elementary, my dear Watson." Just pretend that made sense.

UPDATE: Well, fuck. A spokeswhore for Warner Bros. says this lies. They issued this statement to UsWeekly: "The report in today’s London Mirror is completely inaccurate. Brad Pitt is not joining the cast of Sherlock Holmes and we're extremely pleased with the production of the film. As planned, it will be released on Christmas Day, 2009. In order to complete the movie, we've scheduled a few days on set to shoot a couple of additional scenes, obtain pick-up shots, and perfect some of the visual effects elements, all of which is standard filmmaking practice."