Thursday, 21 April 2016

PRINCE HAS DIED. I AM OFFICIALLY UNABLE TO DEAL

PRINCE, THOUGHTFUL TO THE END, DIED ON MY DAY OFF, 
no doubt knowing that I'd have had to call in heartbroken otherwise.
Normally I'd spend my precious day off by sleeping till noon followed by a cleansing vodka colonic, but today is no ordinary day off. Today we have lost one of the greatest musical greats of our era, the master of guitar bating, the king of qool, and, it has to be said, a card-carrying lunatic. (It's a genius thing.) I learned of Prince's death today while at a Portuguese restaurant, where a TV news flash read: "Mourners gather outside Prince's home." 

"Omigod! Did Prince die?" I blurted to the cashier. He looked alarmed and leaned across the counter to ask the people in the line behind me, "Does anyone know if Prince is dead?"
Well that did nothing but muddy the waters. 
"Prince Charles died?" one lady asked. 
"Good!" barked another. 
"Never mind," I said, "I'll ask Twitter," and within seconds, my fears were confirmed. Prince has indeed died, at the tender age of 57. Details are sketchy, although he'd reportedly been suffering "complications of flu" (?) and was found dead in an elevator at his Minnesota home. I won't go on about his remarkable legacy because others are far more capable of paying a fitting tribute, but I will say that he was totally right: The beautiful ones, you always seem to lose. God took Prince but left Donald Trump? What. The actual. Fuck.


In other 'musical genius' news, we have the other Canadian Justin posting a video on the pretext of defending his ugly dreadlockswhen in fact it is clearly just a bold-faced endorsement of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau's efforts to legalize marijuana. You simply cannot watch this and still think weed turns you into an idiot. This lad was an idiot to begin with. "Being weird is fun," he intones cheech-and-chong-ily. "If you are not weird I don't like you." You can watch the video here if you're high and find this sort of crap amusing.



Lastly, we have James Franco clearing up that pesky confusion about his sexuality by definitively stating he's "a little gay." Which is sort of like being "a little pregnant." Unless he's referring to his stature, in which case I am so sorry for mocking your puniness, James. I meant no disrespect. Okay, maybe "a little" ...

And now, to help wash the taste of douche out of our mouths after those last two items, I'm going to leave this photo of Prince here while I go have that long-overdue colonic. Only today I'm going to use purple gin instead of vodka. One must afford these sombre occasions the respect they deserve.



 

Monday, 11 April 2016

HM, YOU REMIND ME OF SOMEONE. GIVE ME A MINUTE ...

IRONICALLY, IN FACT 
ONE MIGHT SAY FATEFULLY, 
 Arnold Schwarzenegger's love child, 
Joseph Baena, looks more like Arnold 
than his sons by Maria Shriver. 
Yahoo

If there were ever any doubt that this strapping young barbarian was the illegitimate offspring of Arnold Schwarzenegger (via Guatemalan hobbit housemaid Mildred Baena), this picture of Joseph Baena should put it to rest once and for all. If every cheating husband's love child came out looking this much like his sperminator the paternity-test industry would be out of business in the time it takes to say "Just leave the goddam dusting and bend over, for Chrissake; my wife is due home any minute!" 

And since I haven't spontaneously combusted yet, I guess it's safe to further cattily note that young Joseph is 18 - as is Arnold and Maria Shriver's youngest son, Christopher. Indeed, their birthdays are separated by what must have been the most nail-biting five days in the history of cheating fathers. It doesn't take a genius to do that math and conclude that Arnold is the shittiest kind of cheater there is. And in a world that includes Tiger Woods, Jesse James, Jude Law and Bill Clinton, that's saying something.

Thursday, 31 March 2016

SOMEONE GAVE ME FLOWERS; I THINK I HANDLED IT WELL

yellow roses, editorspick, whorrified,

Aw, look. Someone gave me flowers! And he wasn’t even trying to make up for something he’d done wrong (which is good because flowers wouldn’t have helped). It was a lovely gesture that I promptly rewarded with my own special brand of bitching positive reinforcement, the end result of which was an argument. It was an unfortunate turn of events no one could have foreseen except everyone who knows me.

So what happened was, this poor sap surprised me with a bouquet of fresh roses on his way to work and you could tell by the look on his face he was pretty pleased with himself.
“Flowers? How sweet!” I said. “What’s this all about?”
“No reason,” he said, beaming.
“No reason?”
His smile began to twitch under the strain. “No, no reason. Is that a problem?”
“It’s not a problem, it’s just not like you. Let me get a vase.”
He watched as I arranged them, and then we both stood back and admired them.

“So you like them?” he asked. (Jesus, I thought, he’s really making me work for these things.)
“They’re gorgeous,” I said.
“I’m not a huge fan of roses myself,” he said.
“Yeah, they’re not my favourite,” I agreed.
“They’re too perfumey. And the thorns!”’
“I know!” I held out my finger. “They drew blood!”
“I wasn’t sure what colour to get …”
“Red is nice. Or pink.”
“But not yellow?”
“Well it’s very bright and cheery. It’s just …
“You hate the colour. Just say it.”
“No I don’t hate it, I just don’t generally like yellow flowers. Or orange ones, either, for future reference.”

He had the decency not to shriek “THERE’S NOT GOING TO BE A FUTURE YOU UNGRATEFUL WITCH!” but he did pout, which is never a good look nor is it conducive to healthy discussions.
“Maybe you should tell me the colours you DO like,” he said, in what was coming perilously close to cheekiness, in my opinion. But he did spontaneously bring me flowers, so I let it go. This time.
“Um, well to be honest, I’m not crazy about flowers in general. They don’t last long and they drop petals all over the place and the water gets funky … chocolate is probably a better way to go.”
“Chocolate.”
“Yes, but only dark chocolate. Milk chocolate is gross. And of course, wine is always appropriate.”
“Should I be writing this down?” he asked, and there was no mistaking the cheekiness now.
“No, you should bend over so I can tattoo it on your arse,” I said. But not out loud. C'mon. I'm not that much of a bitch.

“You don’t have to get huffy," is what I really said. "I was just trying to be helpful."
“Well I was just trying to be sweet and look where that got me.”
"Oh for God's sake," I huffed. "I told you I liked the damn things, can't we just drop it?"
"Fine! We're dropping it. I gotta go, I'm going to be late for work."
"Fine, go," I said to his retreating back. "Have a nice day AND THANK YOU FOR THE PRICKLY STINKY YELLOW FLOWERS!"
I know. Sometimes I actually think I need professional help.

EDITOR'S NOTE: I'm pretty sure you're never getting flowers from anyone ever again until you die. And then you're getting yellow roses. A whole roomfull of them.
MY NOTE: Fortunately I plan to make sure you die before I do, so that little plan of yours won't work. But go ahead and cling to it if it cheers you.

Monday, 28 March 2016

HAPPY EASTER FROM GOD, JESUS AND THE KARDASHIANS

I'M PRETTY SURE GOD HIMSELF APPLIED THAT 'GOD IS GOOD' EMOJI 
to this Easter Sunday message from the Kardashians. 
 Snapchat

There are many people I think of when I think of church and Easter Sunday, and none of them are Kardashians. And yet apparently the entire Kardashian coven observes "an annual Easter tradition" that entails dressing in slut garb, finding the most outlandish partner imaginable and heading to church. And then daring the pews not to burst into flames. 

This year, because Bruce became Caitlyn, Scott Disick bailed out of wedlock and Kanye refuses to attend any church that doesn't have his face frescoed onto the ceiling, the menfolk were in scant supply. Which is the only explanation I can come up with for why Khloe chose to drag Lamar away from his drool bib and therapeutic hooker mags and forced him to come and pray with her. Which is nothing short of a miracle because, as E Online fake-innocently notes: "Odom has never been photographed attending church services over the holidays" before. Or at all. 

Look, I'm all in favour of prayer and forgiveness and what-not, but jeez louise, could this family be any more goddam sacriligiously ridiculous? Oh, wait, is that 60-year-old Kris Jenner's barely legal bouncer-slash-boyfriend Corey Gamble escorting her into the sacred place of worship? Yup. Just answered my own question.

IT'S LADY GAGA'S BIRTHDAY SO I'LL TRY TO BE NICE

LADY GAGA (RIGHT) TURNS 30 TODAY 
because my prayers went unanswered.  
Instagram

Despite my constant campaign of lobbying, pleading and flat-out bribery, the Grim Reaper appears to be ignoring me and has somehow allowed Lady Gaga to live to see another birthday. Which would be today, in case you're looking for more reasons not to get out of bed on a rainy March Monday. The Gag turns 30 today (Editor's note: In lizard years? My note: Ooooh, good one! Maybe I won't have you castrated after all!) which surprises me because I have kids that age so this creature could theoretically have been my child. This is how I'd like to imagine that scenario playing out:
Me: Aaaagh! Something prickly and demonic just fell out of me!
Doctor: Awww, it's a wee baby! It's a ... girl? I think?
Me: *flushes toilet swiftly* Sorry, I had to. That thing was gonna be weird.

Haha, just kidding. Of course I wouldn't have treated Lady Gaga to such an undignified disposal; it would frighten the goldfish. I'd simply have wrapped her in algae and abandoned her to the wolves and she'd have turned out exactly as she actually did. (Oh, you doubt me? Please click here.) Which leads me back to the point I think I was trying to make, which is happy birthday, Lady Gaga! I'm a huge fan! *resumes kneeling position, clasps hands, hisses 'OK, so maybe NEXT year, then?'*

Thursday, 24 March 2016

DAVID LETTERMAN IS THE STUFF OF NIGHTMARES

I HAVE A VERY VIVID RECURRING NIGHTMARE 
in which a man who looks exactly like this chases all of my children into a hole and eats them. 
The Daily Mail
We are mere hours away from the holiest day of the Catholic year, so naturally my thoughts turn to the fact that I have mere hours left to say and do all the things I will soon have to beg our lord Christ's forgiveness for. (I think he appreciates that I keep him busy. You always love your bad kids the most!) Which brings us neatly to the fact that A) I have no intention of eating stinky fish on Good Friday and B) speaking of stinky fish, could you ever in a million years guess who this pervy bearded codger is? Yeah don't hurt your brain, I'll give you a hint: IT'S DAVID FREAKIN LETTERMAN. 

That's right, David Letterman, 68 going on a hundred and eleventy, getting his fitness on in St. Bart's. Although one wonders why he even bothers because clearly this bizarre reverse-Benjamin-Button death race his body is taking him on will see him rigor-mortised by Sunday. One scarcely knows which part of this visual terrorism to look away from first: the teeth the colour of opium addiction, the beard that reeks of child molester, the wrinkled knees that scream "prison bitch" ... it's like the universe took one look at him and said: "Top 10 reasons why retirement is a bad idea: Go!"

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and hide chocolate eggs all over Rob Ford's body in case he rises from the dead on Easter Monday. Just like Jesus did. *makes the sign of the cross, dodges bolt of lightning* What? He loved chocolate!!!

Tuesday, 22 March 2016

KATIE HOLMES LOOKS SUPER HAPPY TO BE ALIVE!

KATIE HOLMES AND HER DAUGHTER SURI AT A ... 
Well I'm not sure what the hell they're doing but my money's on "sitting outside waiting for the soup kitchen to open." 
 DAILY MAIL



I can glean two things from staring obsessively at this photo, which I have been doing since stumbling across it on the Internet late last night while I was Googling "bag ladies." One: Suri Cruise, who's almost 10 now, is definitely Tom Cruise's child. She couldn't look more like him if she were jumping on a couch and wearing shoe lifts. Two: I see Katie Holmes is aggressively ramping up her campaign to be crowned World's Most Boring woman by appearing in public looking like she snorts lines of dullness and head lice. Jesus Christ, Katie, would it KILL you to brush your goddam hair? True, this could just be an attempt to avoid being spotted by the paparazzi, but to do that she'd have to start looking like she bathes. Paparazzo 1: Hey, isn't that Katie Holmes? 
Paparazzo 2: Who, her? *doubles over in hysterics* Bahaha are you freakin' kidding me? She's wearing makeup!