Yeah, I know Mischa Barton always looks like if a naked crackhead clothed themselves in the dead of night using children's clothes found in a Salvation Army donation bin, but damn. Mischa, whose foolery grows stronger with every click of a camera, stumbled through Nice Airport this morning with all eyes on her. The eyes weren't dazzled from being in the presence of Marissa Cooper. No, they were wondering what kind of ho would voluntarily do themselves up to look like a tweaked out Arthur the Aardvark who has fallen on hard times (and a few hard meth needles) and is now working as a third-tier Where's Waldo impersonator. They didn't see a gun pointed at Mischa's head so they were a little confused.
And now that another game of "Where's Mischa?" is over, we can continue to play a never-ending game of "Where's Mischa's Career?"
When Cheryl Cole landed in L.A. this weekend, she brought with her a teased and sprayed mane of hair that should only be worn by the stars of Valley of the Dolls and Texas child beauty queens whose moms have yet to retire the Revo Styler. Well, Cheryl Cole has infected every hairstylist's teaser brush and created a trend! Looking like the product of a down low love affair between Aslan the Great Lion and a minotaur, Sarah Jessica Parker showed up to the Robin Hood Foundation Benefit in NYC last night with a whole lot of NAY on top of her head.
Normally, I'm into hair that makes a ho look like she's trying to steal Falcon Crest from Jane Wyman, but SJP is not doing it. It looks like a badly glued on wig that's just itching to be turned all the way around. Just think of how many holes in the ozone layer were formed because SJP's stylist (who obviously hates her) wanted to take her to an unholy level of fug. Mission accomplished.
And SJP wasn't the only barnyardigan who should've stayed home last night. Gisele Bundchen nearly broke her cheek bones from posing so hard, but little does she know that a beautiful ostrich creature in a white bra stole the shot from her.
You know shit is an extra kind of busted when the hottest piece in a picture is knee-length denim skirt, suede boots and a facial expression that says: "I am so not fucked up enough to deal with this mess in front of me." It's okay if Lindsay Lohan insists on looking like a 50-something worn out lot lizard circa 1981 who trades handjobs for Camel Cash and knows which gas station bathrooms in a 10-mile radius still have working locks on their doors, but why is she styling
Steven Tyler 17-year-old Ali Lohan the same way? I know they're at Coachella, but it's really not right that Ali thinks she has the stuff to work a pair of Mexican abuelo moccasins. Not today. Not ever.
Furtherwhore, LiLo really needs to turn that camera around and get an up-close picture of the top of her head which looks like it was just the scene of a battle between peroxide, weave glue and meth lab sparks. I didn't know "meth part" actually existed until now. When LiLo goes to court on Friday to possibly plead GUILTY (she won't), the judge better throw the book at her. The book being "The Weavemaster's Bible," of course.
Just like that, every Honda Spree is feeling hotter than a motherfucker today, because their title as the biggest two-wheeled joke in the world has been replaced by this Trannyformers disaster. Late last night, Lady Gaga dropped a Photoshopped shit bomb on her little monsters (and sparked a new meme) when she Twatted out the album cover for "Born This Way." This just confirms what I've known all along: bitch gets her tuck jobs at Jiffy Lube.
I can already hear Caca vroom-vroom-vrooming about how this is METAPHORICAL HIGH ART CAMP and only the few chosens ones who have recently gotten an oil and filter change in their creative node will understand this. Stick a banana in her exhaust pipe and tell her gas pumper at AM/PM to start filling her tank with a steady stream of GET OVER YOUR FUCKING SELF (87 octane, of course). I will tell Caca the same thing I told my cousin when she came out of the airbrusher store in the "ghetto mall" wearing a t-shirt with Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck (in Smile Now, Cry Later style) on it: walk in front of me and don't make eye contact with me when we're both in line at Orange Julius.
Some of Gaga's little monsters think that this cover is a sike on a bike and believe that the real cover will rise in 3 days....just like Jesus. I wish I was making this up. But you know, maybe they're right. This cover is definitely missing something (besides a tractor trailer smashing into it):
There, that's somewhat better. It's still not going to pass a smog check, but maybe Paula Deen will pay homage to Thelma & Louise by riding this Cacacyle right off of a cliff. Remember to jump off, Paula. Butter needs you!
Somebody get the ASPCA on the line, because it looks like Kate Gosselin's tortured possum hair fell into a puddle of tar and crawled onto Corey Feldman's head in Hollywood last night. I don't even know who or what that is on Corey's head. It's like a Flock of Seagulls meets an oil spill. Maybe Corey only had a few coins for a haircut and so he went to a friend of a friend's garage beauty salon and decided to go retro by asking for "The T-Boz." Because that really is some "T-Boz on a budget" shit. Bitch needs to chase a waterfall of shampoo.
The queef face Kate Hudson is displaying in the picture above matches the face I'm making when I stare at this picture of her at the Grammys last night. Like she's trying to hold in a burp and a fart. You know, nothing says "understated grace" like a cut-out on a satin gown, but this is just a blue ball of NO. It looks like the woman with the world's longest finger nails is trying to snatch Kate's unborn baby from behind.
Kate would've been better off turning that dress around, slapping snakeskin pasties on her nipples and giving us that. But this just makes Kate look like she's sitting on the wrong side of uncomfortable. Although, that could've had something to do with Nicole Kidman molesting her in front of her friends and boyfriend Matt Bellamy from Muse.
Nicole Kidman was on that bitch like Kate's looking to sell the contents of her womb. Nicole, calm your shit! The baby is taken. There's a pink SOLD note on Kate's womb and everything.
Anne Hathaway is the next Catwoman and this ho showed up to an event for her new movie Rio dressed like a damn cat toy. The top part of Anne's outfit says "9-year-old know-it-all circa 1987" and the bottom part says "mariachi clown." Just no. The only way this outfit would work outside of a little girl's slumber party is if it was dyed pink and put on the body of Charo. That's it. However, I will say that I like Anne's necklace. It looks like all the things you'd find inside of Tommy Girl's favorite fuck toy drawer. Butt beads, travel-sized dildos, etc.... Yup, the necklace can stay!
Here's more of Anne wearing the finest clothes from Gymboree's black label collection with George Lopez and Jamie Foxx (whose hairline is almost as well manicured as Norwood Young's).
Why is rapper Gucci Mane (more like Marshalls Rattail) still trying to convince us that he's crazier than a former Club MTV dancer? That is the only explanation for why Gucci Mane got three scoops of blue (?) ice cream tattooed on his face cheek. If this isn't a yodel for a straitjacket, then I don't know what is. Getting an ice cream cone tattoo on your face is only okay if you've served time at the Kingdom of Caring Penitentiary. That's their equivalent of a teardrop tattoo.
When your face is starting to look like a water damaged Lisa Frank folder that's collecting dust in the corner of a junior high school homeroom, it's time to file for divorce from the tattoo needle for good. Gucci Mane may not regret this decision tomorrow morning, but he'll definitely regret it ONE morning. Even the tattoo artist is trying to gulp down the regret he feels from being an active participant in this fuckery.
Brit Brit's feets have long been the halfway house for wayward boots to go when they've been dumped on the bottom shelf in the back of the storage room at an Off Broadway Shoes to lick on dust balls. Then when a confused and drunk salesperson accidentally pulls them out to show to a customer, the boots bust out of that bitch and jump on a freight straight headed to the PROMISE LAND (aka Brit Brit's thankles). Brit Brit's feet = Xanadu for fug boots.
Got a pair of boots that make your toe nails vomit? Send 'em to Brit. We already know this, but she has taken the fug to a whole new level by putting STUDDED UGGS on her feet. Yes, they are masquerading under the name Australia Luxe boots, but shit is still STUDDED UGGS.
STUDDED UGGS has replaced activated charcoal as the most effective way to brings up the barfs in heavy doses. STUDDED UGGS is the password to get into the trailer where the Illuminati's Louisiana chapter holds their meeting. I swear, Brit Brit's "sloth on ludes" eyes are dazzled by anything with jooree on it. If you put jewel stickers on a Ke$ha album, she'd probably put that shit on her feet too.
Hopefully now that Brit Brit's new possum yodel of a song has leaked (below), the Glittery Gays of YouTube will get on this and scrub the film of STUDDED UGGS fugness from my eyes by scootin' their sparkle holes all over their mom's garage.
And here's more of Brit Brit with the Shiloh of the South, JJ, spreading the UGG evilness in Los Angeles the other day.
And Dudley Moore just ran the other way... But on a positive note, when the entire paint team from Color Splash doesn't slather layers of Benjamin Moore (in shade: carob) and mahogany varnish on Kim Kardashian's face, she actually looks like a real-life human person who breathes in oxygen with the rest of us!