Answer: Did I even need to ask?
New York's Department of Fish and Wildlife rushed to the Met last night, because they received dozens of panicked calls from people who were horrified to see a traumatized chipmunk struggling to get out of a net after getting viciously attacked by a porcupine. Oh, but it was just Miley being punk rock.
Most people probably didn't recognize Miley Cyrus at the Met Gala last night, because her ass cheeks weren't hanging out and because that electrocuted hair made everyone think she was that dude from Sum 41 (the one who was married to Avril Lavigne), so they just walked on by. Perfect disguise, Miley!
And here's even more pictures from last night. Basically, any trick in a borrowed dress could get in. My family gatherings have a stricter guest list than this shit had. In order: Messy Miley, the ghost of a homeless bridge urchin from the 1920s, Drunk Ass Sandra Lee, Katie Holmes (whose sheet dress can be used as an escape rope just in case the Scientologists come after her when she's on the second floor) Derek Hough in ballerina drag, Swifty, a Vulcan priestess (aka Coco Rocha), Linda Evangelista (who REALLY wants a role in Games of Thrones), Tiger Woods with a blonde who will hate him in a few months, Chelsea Clinton, Rooney Mara, the leader of a cult of hippie trolls, Tom Brady with Gis and Zachary Quinto (looking like Duckie from the Pretty in Pink after he got a job in Prince's band).
Maybe it's because I'm so used to seeing Ke$hit look like Marjory the Trash Heap shat her up after downing gallons of used stripper glitter and butt sweat, but am I wrong ("Yes, you are." - you) for saying that she doesn't look completely awful as usual? Yeah, Ke$hit looks like John Travolta's face twin in a homeless shelter theater production of Some Like It Hot, but it's still an upgrade. It's amazing what four sand blast sessions, ten hours in a fumigation tent, a grooming by certified HAZMAT removal experts and a team of brave stylists who specialize in skankorcisms can do for a bitch!
Here's more of Ke$hit at something called the BMI Awards (Body Mass Index Awards? Busted Manfaced Idiot Awards? Bowel Movement Instigator Awards?) at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills last night. I also threw in some pictures of Drunk Ass Sandra Lee and Diana DeGarmo. I don't know what's worse? Diana's ihopethoseareclipon-bangs or the coagulated jizz balls on her bordello wallpaper of a dress?
Warning: If you hate Sandrunk Lee as much as Paula Deen hates I Can't Believe It's Not Butter, then this clip of outtakes from her show might make you hate her a little less. Or it might make you hate her more since the Stepford robot shit she pulls on her show is just an act and the real Sandra Lee is a drunk, cursing ho who isn't afraid to double cup her semi-homemade chichis in front of the crew. But sweet mother of Alize and frozen grapes, this shit is gold. This is how I'll take my Sandra Lee from now on, thank you. This Sandra Lee doesn't make tablescapes, she jumps on top of tablescapes to shake her titties for a Jell-O shot.
I love it when cocktail time comes with a titty grope, booby sex with a margarita bottle and a fuck bomb.
It's one thing for Beyonce to wrap herself in a gown that looks like it was made using the gilded sperm of Lumiere the Candlestick and the dusty ovaries of Babbette the Feather Duster, but it's another to stuff herself so tight that you can't even walk. Like an elephant dick in a guinea pig condom. Whenever Beyonce drags Jay-Z to events like last night's Costume Institute Gala at The Met, he always looks like those dudes you see holding their chick's purses outside of the ladies room with a perma-grimace on their face. And now she does this to him?!
Jay-Z and a helper had to physically help Beyonce up the stairs into the museum. If it was me, I would've knocked that ho to the floor and rolled her ass up the stairs. When we were getting ready to leave, I would've set up bowling pins at the bottom of the stairs, told Beyonce to hold her breath and then rolled her ass down hoping for a strike!
You can't even think about taking a piss in a satin sausage casing like that dress. If you even twitch your labia a bit, all the seams will come apart and you'd be all sorts of naked. It's not like 4 peons (or pee-ons, I should say) can prop Beyonce up on a toilet and guide-eth thee pee-eth stream down below. Beyonce could not pee. Because she could not pee, she could not drink any kind of booze. Because she could not drink one drop of booze while surrounded by a sea of perfumed assholes, she might as well have been in hell. Although, if you're an asshole amongst assholes, you probably don't care. Beyonce waddling around a museum is never the look.
Anyway, here's a bunch of hos who obviously asked themselves "Should I trip her? Should I trip her?" while Beyonce waddled by. In order (after Beyonce and Jay-Z): Gis Bundchen with a granola gayelle, a neon marker named Brooklyn Decker, Dakota Fanning, Elle Fanning, Salma Hayek, JLo with Skeletor, RiRipunzel, Madge, Fishsticks with Lea Michele, Sarah Jessica Parker with an Andy Cohen photo bomb and the First Lady of New York.
And either the excitement of winning an award fermented and bubbled over putting him in a drunk euphoric coma, or the camera caught the moment his butt finally exhaled out a fart that had been stuck in there all day. Either way, Ricky Martin is relaxed. So yeah, Ricky won a trophy at the GLAAD Media Awards last night for being GAY!, OUT! and a CELEBRITY! Ricky told reporters that declaring his love for the peen was welcomed with open arms (and other body parts). Ricky thanked his partner Carlos and then gave a shout to Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, etc... Sadly, Ricky didn't give a special thanks to his shiny red Menudo jeggings. Here's Ricky's speech:
“I just want to be free. I can say today I'm free. And for that I definitely need to thank my parents for being so supportive, my mother and my dad for their unconditional love, and my friends, my family, my fans. And my partner in crime and my boyfriend Carlos.
And GLAAD let's go to Latin America, let's share the love! Let's go to Mexico! Let's go to Columbia! Let's go to Argentina! Let's go to Chile! Let's go to Brazil! We need you GLAAD -- we need you down there, we need to spread the love in Latin America. Let's do it in Spanish. I can help, I can do it! I'll be part of it. I want to be part of it.”
"Let's do it in Spanish" has just become my new favorite fuck partner pick-up line. And besides Ricky, other hos who found a trophy in their hands last night included Tina Fey and True Blood (full winners list here).
And here's some pictures! In order: Ricky Martin, Andy Cohen with warriors from the Ke$ha tribe, Tina Fey, Manila Luzon with Sahara Davenport, Drunk Ass Sandra Lee, Jane Velezzie-Mitchell with a chick who is giving me the dizzies and Rollerina.
By now, many of you have already caught a temporary case of the dry heaves from watching the new First Lady of New York Sandra Lee work her dark-sided black magic all over a creation she dubbed THE KWANZAA CAKE! The Kwanzaa cake was not only named after the African American holiday, but it was also named after the sound your throat makes when you try to swallow a piece of that mess. But drunk ass Sandra Lee isn't the only one to blame for inflicting a frosted stomach virus on the world.
Food stylist Denise Vivaldo has slid into a confessional booth at the Huffington Post to ask for forgiveness for putting store-bought angel food cake, Corn Nuts, apple filling, popcorn, vanilla frosting and pumpkin seeds together in one recipe. Denise started her confession by saying she wrote several recipes under contract for Sandra Lee including Chanukah cake. Obviously, Denise is not under contract with Sandra anymore, because if she was she wouldn't be able to write this out loud:
I can honestly say Ms. Lee had nothing against African Americans or Jews. She just has incredibly bad food taste. She was not discriminating about who would be harmed from her culinary "creations." Think what your taste would be like if you came from carnival or circus people. Did I just offend Paris Hilton?
When the Angel Food Cake Collection came to life, Ms. Lee was converting to Judaism herself for her new husband and she seriously wanted to bring her new "cuisine" to an entire nation. Well, let's put it this way, she wanted to sell a shitload of books. And she did. She wanted fame and money. And she succeeded. I believe that's often thought of as the American dream by many, isn't it? Note to all American Dreamers: This may be a good time to take a look inward.
Denise then gets to the part about how she created culinary diarrhea which later spewed out of Sandra's mouth and finger tips:
Ms. Lee called and though we were done with the book, she needed at least ten extra angel food cakes for "fun" sugary holiday times to sell to a magazine. Just a reader's note, it wasn't Gourmet, but the magazine I designed those "adorable cakes" for is still in business.
Read it and weep.
Please ask yourself, what would you have done in my place? See how that Kwanzaa cake is looking better from my perspective? I will tell you truly, the candles were her idea.
I guess I imagined something more refined. And I know the Corn Nuts were disgusting, but she didn't. As a matter of fact, the more tasteless the recipes got the more she liked them, the faster she approved them, and I could get home and drink some medium-priced wine after our meetings. She's not a good role model for abstinence.
So there you go! Now you have another name to curse when you're sitting on the toilet with a barf bin in your lap after thinking it would be a fucking hilarious idea to make and eat the Kwanzaa Cake during Kwanzaa.
But you know, that cake might work if you throw it in the blender with an entire bottle of vodka. A Kwanzaacake-tini, if you will! I'm actually surprised that Sandrunk Lee hasn't already tried that shit.
via Eater (Thanks Michele & Bob)
The Crystal Enchantress of the Ice Johnny Weir hung up his polar bear stole and his boa made from bedazzled swan feathers for the night to slip into a Hogwarts uniform that puts the HUFF and PUFF in Hufflepuff. Harry Potter's wand will not stop spitting out the glitter once it gets a piece of this. Pee Weir Herman cast a bretha mortis spell (aka the killing these hos spell) at last night's NYC premiere of Harry Potter and the Deathly Swallows, and then he gave them life again by popping a hip to pose. Everyone was slytherin' in their pants.
And those who had to clean their mess in the bathroom after laying their eyes on Johnny were: Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, DanRad, Matthew Broderick with his son and Voldemort's mistress, Joey Fatone with his daughter, Precious, Tom Felton, Ralph Fineass, Liam Neeson, The First Drunk of New York, Lourdes Leon and Darren Criss.
Andrew Cuomo is officially the new governor of New York, which means the drunk blueberry in his frozen glass of Hpnotiq named Sandra Lee is sort of the first of Lady of New York! The fountains will be filled with malt liquor and frozen juice! The banquet tables at the state dinner will be covered with tablescapes made with shit found in the clearance bins at Big Lots and they will serve Uncle Ben's Risotto. And New York's new official dessert is going to be microwaved Twinkies with banana baby food drizzled on top. Oh, and did I mention it will be a non-stop booze party? My guess is that public intoxication is no longer illegal since the new first lady is always publicly drunk as all fuck. WEEEEE! We'll all be tanked for the next 4 years!
Unfortunately, this means that the rent is still 2 damn high!