Beyonce, who?! Mama June stepped out of her hotel in NYC last night and gave Pepsi the most important endorsement in the history of their brand. Pepsi can go ahead and rip up the five trillion dollar contract they with Beyonce and never hire another spokeswhore again, because it'll never get better than this for them. If Pepsi's good enough for Mama June to moisturize her luscious river of chins with, then it's good enough to drink. (Truth talk: I'm still not going to drink that mess. Pepsi Cola tastes like Lana Del Rey's pussy.)
Here's more of the blonde bombshell of Georgia leaving her hotel last night and also pictures of her and Honey Boo Boo falling in love with ice cream yesterday afternoon.
Even sharing a birthday with RDJ and getting the chance to eat her own face can't bring a smile out of Tardar Sauce. Unhappy Barfday, Grumpy Cat! Here's to another grumpy ass year! (Side note: Grumpy Cat is kind of making the same face I made on my birthday when I was drunk, gassy and wishing that there were more frosting flowers on my grocery store cake.)
Before you press play on this NSFW-due-to-use-of-the-cunt-word mess, here's the backstory from LiveLeak:
"After forcing the truck to hit his car because of slamming on his brakes numerous times, the truck hits his car. Minor scratches to his car, the truck needs a new bumper and grill. Road rage much? He purposely forced an accident and gets out of his car and starts doing this. A real motivated Sgt disrespecting a fellow Marine who is in a wheelchair and the driver who is a civilian.At the End of the video you see him place his hands on the trunk, well that is because the MP's pulled up and arrested him."
So today's lesson is: When an insane Camp Pendleton Marine whose body is filled to the top with road rage screams at you to get out of the truck so he can beat your motherfucking POG bitch ass, it's probably best to turn on your internal ignore switch and stay in your truck, unless you really want him to beat your motherfucking POG bitch ass. I'm surprised that after he said it the 500th time that everyone would've gotten out of the truck and submitted to his motherfucking bitch ass bitch beating. That usually works.
I really have to slow clap for the driver, because I would've broken in two from laughing so hard when dude went full angry chimpanzee at the 1:45 mark. That moment redefines "Hold me back, bro!"
The West Coast finally has its very own Derek J.
Magic Johnson ruled the court in the 1980s and his 20-year-old son EJ is ruling the streets in the now. TMZ caught up with EJ as he sashayed down the Sunset Strip with his boyfriend on one arm, his night purse on his other arm and his grandmother's (fake?) fur coat around his shoulders. TMZ asked EJ about boring stadium shit, but they should've asked him his style secrets instead, because everybody should dress like an Upper East Side socialite widow who is always holding court. TMZ also asked Magic about EJ for some reason and he said:
"Cookie and I love EJ and support him in every way. We're very proud of him."
Cookie and Magic better support EJ in the financial way too, because the glitter-glazed mash-up of Heavy D and Andre Leon Talley is still a college student and somebody needs to pay to keep a designer purse on his arm at all times. Glamour like this costs!
When I woke up this morning, I was hung all the way over, I was bloated from eating Peeps wrapped in slices of maple glazed-ham and my nostrils were filled with dried snot plugs from allergies. But when I saw this at Buzzfeed and hit play, my head cleared and I could breathe again. This gay Brazilian twerk team cured me! They knocked my hangover out of me with their paddle ball asses!
This shit is mesmerizing and should be an Olympic sport. But if twerking was an Olympic sport, Scientology would probably win the gold. Because John Travolta, Tommy Girl and David Miscavige shake their asses more than this when they're trying to get the sex juices out of their butts after a particularly messy Scientology-sponsored orgy.
And here's the porn iguana inhaling meth-laced baby carrots and wishing all of us a Hoppy Easter. Yes, Jesus came back to life for this. Hoppy Easter, I guess. But I really don't want to know where her crusty oatmeal-faced husband hid his eggs this year. No.
Last year, Macaulay Culkin was looking like a 75-year-old zombie version of Rickety Cricket from It's Always Sunny and now here he is looking healthier in Paris last night. Macaulay and a hot, stached man friend hugged and kissed on each other while making cakes at the opening night of the 50th Foire du Trone. These pictures are several layers of what? I don't really know what's going on in these pictures, I don't know why Macaulay's man friend looks like he just inhaled a whole lot of dirty ass and I don't know how I feel about Macaulay looking like a skinny Tyler Durden.
Oh whatever, I'd still hit it. Hell, I'd hit every single dude in every single one of these pictures, especially the dude in this picture who looks like a wonk-eyed komodo dragon that's about to attack.
I've always said that the most magical and powerful things happen in the parking lot of the Food Lion in Richmond, VA. Steven Seagal can finally retire, because Kung-Fu Pepaw's got this. And Morgan Freeman can finally retire as the narrator of our lives, because the genius narrating this video's got this. Shake it off.... Shake. It. Off.....
If Fatty Arbuckle was resurrected to star in a reboot of Ocean's 11, this is what it would look like.
The police in Redding, CA are asking the public to be on the lookout for a thieving buffoon with a gunt like no other. (Side note: Nothing will make you feel secure in the police like them asking you to help them catch a complete idiot.) The FUPA Bandit's streak of terror began earlier this month when he tried to rob Kent Market. After casing the joint (he probably saw that on a TruTV movie), he put on a masterful disguise (a pantyhose mask) and threw a rock at the glass door. The alarm went off and the Benny Hill music started playing. He ran off, tripped, got up, pulled up his pajama pants and kept on a running. When he pulled up his pajama pants, I fell in love.
If the police really wanted to catch him, they'd just set up a sting operation (a sub sandwich on a park bench). No, he'd never fall for it. He's a professional criminal. Dude is such a master of disguise that I bet that's not even a home grown front butt. It's probably a pillow baby. Oh, shit. Beyonce should check her closet right about now.
Since you can't resurrect Michelangelo from the dead to get him to paint a fresco mural on the beige wall in the living room of your condo, you should get the next most artistic thing: a life-size Courtney Stodden wall sticker! I didn't even know shit like that existed, but it does. E! says that some store called The Blown Up is selling $50 self-adhesive wall stickers of the porn iguana in various states of elegance.
The Blown Up store doesn't say if these stickers are wipeable, but I'm assuming they are, because they're going to be all the rage at every frat house glory hole. But you can also use these porn iguana wall stickers for other things too. You can use one as an alarm clock. Just stick it to your bedroom ceiling and when you open your eyes in the morning and stare at it, you'll jump out of your bed while screaming for Jesus. You can also stick one on your bathroom wall. It'll inspire you to scrub your skin off with a Chore Boy until you hit the bone. If you put one on your refrigerator, you'll never eat food again. It's the perfect diet tool.
Just make sure you coat your wall with a thick layer of liquid antibiotics before you stick one on.
And I'll pass, but poke at me when a wipeable Prince Hot Ginge wall-sticker comes out.