Saturday, 5 January 2013


As does the harlot-red hair and the 
plunging decolletage. But, I dunno... 
needs more tattoo, don't you think? 
Yeah, definitely needs more tattoo.

You know how some new moms lie around in their sweaty PJs all day eating pork rinds right out of the bag and watching Jerry Springer? No? Well apparently there was one new mom who did that once and it became an instant stereotype. But not a stereotype you could ever tie Snooki Polizzi to (even though hers is the face that came to mind when I wrote that sentence). 

No, Snooks is a break-the-mold kind of mom. Since she shat out her little meatball, she's been keeping up a whipsaw pace of glamourous self-improvements, starting with getting her teeth veneered, her nails done, her extensions coloured and now, wait for it . . . a tattoo. A big one.

Her new tatt depicts a fictional beast that . . . hold on a sec, Snooki is tugging on my pantleg with her new teeth. (Oh for God's sake, Snooki, what do you mean I ruined everything? You really thought there was a creature with a leopard's body, wings and horns? Jesus Jersey Christ.)

Anyway, Snooks unveiled the ridiculous arm tatt yesterday to her fan. But he was napping so she posted a pic of it on her blog, where she walks us through the creation by explaining the crown proves she is "a queen," the wings represent relatives who have passed and the leopard ... well that's just because she's tacky.
"Obviously I love leopard print," she gushes. Next, she plans to get her entire backside inked with leopard spots! 

Nowhere in this helpful guided tour of her new ink does Snooki mention that her original plan ... to get a shitload of maternal piercings ... got sidelined when they pierced her bellybutton and gravy came out. 

You can check out Snooks' hot new ink by clicking right here.

Friday, 4 January 2013


whorrified, marie sutherland,

 Daughter at left (who wishes to remain 
anonymous because her mother 
is clinically insane): Clearly mine. 

Daughter at right (who doesn't wish to 
remain anonymous because she is  
Clearly the Mennonite's daughter.

I have tragic news to impart. 
As some of you already know, I am the mother of  fantastically beautiful daughters. Every time I look at them I think, "Well, I'm done. I can die now and face my maker, secure in the knowledge that I have made the world a better place." (Much as my mother must think every time she looks at me. If only I had been twins; she'd be getting VIP seats in heaven for sure!)

Anyway, something happened over the holidays that turned my heart to ice ... which is a scientific miracle, since it was originally made of coal ... and now I am pretty much positive that my second-born daughter is not my natural child. She was almost certainly switched at birth in some horrible hospital mixup when I shared a room with A) a toothless Mennonite woman and B) a woman who told everyone who came to visit her that she was "from Bell Island, Newfoundland." (Even though, presumably, they would already know that, but perhaps this is some quaint Bell Island tradition, like drinking screech or marrying your cousin.) 

I must admit there've been moments when I had doubts about her parentage. (And I am not referring to paternity doubts, because it's always the richest suspect who's the dad. Whether he is or not!)
For example: 
* I am a Yeti-esque 5'8". My daughter topped out at a dainty 5'1.
* I have tangly, curly hair. My daughter's is sleek and bone straight. 
* I am a vile, hot-tempered drama queen. My daughter is a sunny, even-tempered sweetheart. 
* My favourite food is liquor. My daughter's favourite food is shoo-fly pie.  

Of course, all of those things could be chalked up to her father's weaker genes somehow trumping my superior ones. But then there was a blood-chilling incident when the truth pierced me like a laser and I knew. I just knew: This cannot be my child. It happened when she and her husband came to visit during the festive season. Naturally, I offered refreshments.

Me: I bought some champagne for us to toast the season!

Daughter: Oh. Maybe I'll have a sip.
Me: *What is this 'maybe' of which she speaks?* Ohhhkay, well, how 'bout a glass of white wine to start? 

Daughter: No thanks. 
Me: Are you pregnant?
Daughter: No.

Me: Are you drunk? 
Daughter: No.
Me: Are you driving? 

Daughter: No.
Me: Then what's your excuse?
Daughter: *Shrugging* I just don't really like drinking.
Me: *Striking hand to breast, collapsing in a heap* OMIGOD! They switched my baby at birth! They switched my baby! Take me right now lord. TAKE ME RIGHT NOW!'

Daughter: Mom? Please get up, we can't stay long.

Editor's note: It is painfully obvious: the toothless Mennonite is her mother. Your real child is somewhere in the hills of Elmira right now, leading a quilting bee while simultaneously giving birth to her thirteenth child and churning butter. 


From Miley Cyrus's convicted-mime pants to JWoww's butt cheeks flapping in our face, these celebrities prove being rich is not the same as being able to pick out a decent outfit. Not by a long shot. Click on this Worst-Dressed Celebrities of the Week link, courtesy of Perez Hilton . . . because you DESERVE a laugh.

Thursday, 3 January 2013


And I don't get it, because by Kim's standards, this is virginal. No visible cleavage, no butt cheeks, no heaving bosom, no nipples, no Kanye . . . just one tiny innocent fetus 
stewing in Vatican brine. Couldn't be less offensive. 
An army of rabid Stepford Wives is blasting Kim Kardashian on Twitter for spending New Year's Eve whooping it up in a Vegas club instead of staying home and throwing up like any decent pregnant woman would. These critics, who I assume are nuns with Twitter accounts, saw this innocent pic Kim posted and were driven mad with moral indignation, calling her everything but a white woman.

I am not usually one to defend the Kardashians and their relentless, double-breasted attack on America, but these holier-than-thous are out of order. First of all, as Kanye brayed to the world last week, their baby was conceived "near the Vatican," so it's practically a saint. Therefore your mortal rules DO NOT APPLY. 
Also, it is unfair to assume that because Kim was in a nightclub, she was getting her liquor on. I'll have you know that it is possible to go to a club and not get completely Lindsay Lohammered. I mean . . . well, I've never personally been able to do it, but I'm told that someone once did it and someone else was sober enough to witness it. So it is possible. In theory.
Anyway, everyone needs to stand down and save their fire for the really stupid Kimye pregnancy stuff. Because you know it's coming.

Wednesday, 2 January 2013


Nicki ripped my dress in club because 
he no like other mens to look at me! So 
the next day I punish him ... by wearing 
my bunga-bunga bathing suit and 
crawling all over him! Smart, no?
Those of you who think I'm picking on Rihanna are going to be really happy to hear that there's a new enabler in town: Sofia Vergara. 
I know. I didn't see that one coming either.

Sofia's fiance, Nick Loeb pulled a Chris Brown on her in a Miami nightclub on New Year's Eve by going ballistic when she posed for a photo with a fan. Her sexy pose so enraged him he put the smackdown on both the fan AND his beloved, ripping her strapless dress and exposing her fabled breasts. (You can imagine how aggrieved the nightclub patrons were to get this free peep show. Terrible, terrible New Year's Eve buzz killer.)

Well we all know how much Sofia hates exposing her boobs. Yet the very next day, she and the future Mr. Vergara were canoodling on the beach, grinning like hyenas and acting as if their domestic violence episode was just a page from their Fifty Shades of Newlyweds exercise book. Click here on the link to their day-after beach romp, in which Sofia exhibits exactly ZERO signs of trauma and in fact appears to be going for round two with that way-too-sexy-for-a-jealous-boyfriend bathing suit. Ay carumba!

Depending on how healthy your psyche is, you will either be deeply relieved to learn that having amazing breasts and money and a hot boyfriend is absolutely no guarantee of happiness, or you will be sad that sweet, likable Sofia is putting up with Nick Loeb's shitty behaviour.
Yeah, me too. I'm totally going with DEEPLY RELIEVED.


I was trying to open a banana with a meat cleaver.
It's kind of embarrassing...  

We humans, we're such cute, naive little eejits. We think we're all kinds of evolved, but really, we don't know squat. 
We've done pretty well with the big stuff, such as nuclear physics and open-heart surgery, but it's the little things that betray us. I mean, we can't even boil an egg without splintering the shell to smithereens. We can't even eat a PB&J sandwich without splattering ourselves with so much jelly we look like we just butchered a cow with our bare sticky hands. 

For years, these shortcomings have troubled me. ("How am I EVER going to win that Nobel Prize for Intelligence/Gobsmacking Beauty if I can't even friggin peel an egg?" I would ask myself over and over again whilst curling my long fake lashes with an eyelash curler.)

And then the other day, while researching "atom splitting, how to" on the Internet, I stumbled across You're Doing It Wrong, a website loaded with tips on how to properly do 22 simple things most monkeys can do better than we can. Check it out if you want to learn such lifesaving skills as the right way to eat TicTacs or crush a beer can. This stuff matters. Don't ever think it doesn't.

Editor's note: My favourite is No. 17, The Right Way to Peel a Banana, as explained in a video by a guy who sounds like he lives on two things: bananas and marijuana. Here's the link to the 22 Things website. Go nuts.


I assume the repeated polka-dot comforter is meant to be a clue. (Although I notice
 Chris's photo provides no evidence of Rihanna's existence. Could be Karrueche
is there, massaging his empty head, and we wouldn't even know it.)

Rihanna kicked off the New Year by proving that she plans to be just as much of an enabler in 2013 as she was in 2012, Instagramming a photo of herself in bed with Chris Brown with the message: "Good morning! Still haven't slept lol #hello2013." From which I think we can safely infer that they spent the night playing a rousing game of pinochle until Chris realized he was losing and punched her in the mouth. And I don't know about you, but I'm having difficulty keeping up with these two. Last I heard, she was tweeting ear-scorching expletives at him for sneaking off with his second-favourite enabler, Karrueche Tran, and telling an increasingly confused audience of millions that she's single again.

Editor's note: That was last week. 



"Wait ... is that ... do I smell bacon? 
(Think of Sticky Willies! 
Think of Sticky Willies!
   Think of Sticky Willies!)"

It was your typical Christmas celebration: I ate for four days straight, gorging myself on so much food my stomach  literally  ached ... and then, of course, I kept going. Because that is somehow what Christmas has come to be about: overconsumption and gluttony. 

I'll save the self-flagellation tips for later, because frankly I'm feeling too lethargic to berate anyone right now, but I will share this hilarious "slimming secret" from Victoria Beckham. I know, right? Like we don't all know what her REAL secret is. (There are two reasons Victoria Beckham never opens her mouth. She doesn't want people to see her teeth and she doesn't want her teeth to see food.)  

But here is how an article in the UK's Daily Mail spun it: "Overindulged this Christmas? Try Victoria Beckham's slimy slimming secret." Well naturally I thought it was going to be about puking and being married to Becks, but it turns out Posh owes her stick figure to a diet pill made of seaweed, bladderwrack and an herb called Sticky Willies. It's sold under the trade name Quantrim and it supposedly fires up your metabolism, makes you feel full and  helps you lose weight.

Which is interesting, because so does eating bran and going to the gym, but until they convert that into a pill made of something gross, it'll never have cachet.


Kelly Osbourne lost 50 pounds and looks fantastic.
(Now could someone please tell her hairdresser that 
Old Lady Purple does not go well with deathly pallor?)

Continuing with our New Year's diet theme . . . yes I know I've already written extensively about this, but I NEED TO TALK ABOUT DIETS right now, people! If you could see the kind of blubber I am dealing with here! 

Previously we learned Victoria Beckham's secret trick to staying as skinny as a twelve-year-old ... seaweed pills. (Bonus: You actually WANT to barf those up.) 

But who cares how someone who's always been skinny stays skinny? Where's the magic there? 
What I want to know is how Kelly Osbourne unloaded the equivalent of a whole person and turned what was left into a reed-like bikini babe. 

Kelly tells Cosmo UK she owes it all to "sensible diet and exercise," but I'm not buying it. Her dull, sunken eyes have that "Hello, my name is Ann O'Rexic and I am looking at you but seeing a cheese blintz" look to them. This is a girl who is eating dust for breakfast, lunch and dinner or my name is not Whorrified, Queen of the Night.
Here's a link to more pics of Kelly's vanishing silhouette, and really, Kelly dear, I'd say it's time to stop now.

Sunday, 30 December 2012


Because obviously, I am totally irresistible,
and in Iowa and other backward parts of 
the world, a woman can get fired for that.

Okay, okay. You've beaten me down. I simply cannot hold back the tidal wave of public suspicion any longer. So yes. Yes. YES! It's true: I am the woman who was fired for being "irresistible."

And in an amazing coincidence, there is another woman who was fired for being irresistible, and her story made headlines everywhere. Because people want to know what a woman who is irresistible looks like, so they can see if maybe they could actually resist her.

So of course, I researched the story and discovered that this supposedly irresistible woman, Melissa Nelson of Iowa, is in fact stunningly average. I really can't see how she could be irresistible to anyone except maybe the casting agent for a fabric softener commercial. 

At any rate, some poor schmo dentist who has to look at people's cavities all day looked up at her and decided HOLY CRAP! It's Sofia Vergara! And from there it went on to flirting, "bulging trousers" and all kinds of naughtiness ... but not, we are asked to believe, any actual cheating. Because they're both married to other people and Melissa may be irresistible but she is not a whore. Even though she sounds like one.

So eventually, the dentist's stupid wife made him fire her. (Because obviously that's all that was needed to turn her husband back into an upstanding, trustworthy man.)

Melissa filed a wrongful dismissal charge, the case went to court and dammit, even the judge agreed that she is IRRESISTIBLE and should not work for this married dude ever again. Melissa may be irresistible but she does not seem to be too smart, because although she wants us to believe her boss's come-ons were unwanted, she supplied the courts with such unhelpful tidbits as this: 
  • She regularly complained to her horndog boss about the infrequency of her love life.  
  • She and her boss texted back and forth, discussing such work-related topics as the frequency of her orgasms.  
  • She relied upon her boss's "bulging pants" to determine whether her clothes were appropriate or not. (No bulge? Boring. Try harder tomorrow. Moderate bulge? Continue working. Large bulge? Inappropriate! Way to go!)

If you're the kind of person who likes to flirt with danger, click on this link to see what "irresistible" looks like. WARNING: Do NOT look if you are married, engaged, on probation with conditions not to look at pictures of irresistible women. I will not be responsible for your lapsed virtue.

Editor's note: I suddenly have a burning urge to schedule a dental check-up.


A New Year's Eve letter from Whorrified to Every Celebrity, Esq.:

Hello, celebrities. It has come to my attention that somewhere between zero and one of you actually read my little blog, but hey, that's a start. In fact, it's an opportunity for me to share an important year-end public service announcement with you, which you could then pass on to the hundreds of other celebrities who really need to hear it. 
And that public service announcement is this: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?  

Between Whitney's daughter, Bobbi Kristina, necking with her adopted brother and Rihanna chasing an indifferent Chris Brown around the globe, it's like the lot of you are engaged in a bare-knuckle brawl to see who can self-destruct the fastest. (*Editor's note: I'm taking bets. Right now, the smart money is on LiLo.*) 
Yes, I know, you are rich and privileged and can do whatever you want, but if I were you, I would remember this: At some point, you all will be held accountable, shamed even, by a higher power. By the Almighty. By He who sees all ... and then tattles about it. I know you think I'm referring to L. Ron Hubbard, but no, I am referring to something much more powerful than mere Scientology.
I am referring to TMZ.

I don't know how they do it but those sneaky little mofos catch EVERYTHING. Seal calling his ex, Heidi Klum, a help-schtupping ho? Oh yeah. That's on video. Russell Brand mowing down homeless persons with his Range Rover? Video. Dirty Harry getting butt nekkid with skanks in his Vegas hotel room? Viral video.
Don't you get it, celebrities? There is nowhere you can hide that will not find you and film you and put the whole damn thing on the world wide web. 

In closing, I leave you with this recent example of tmz's chilling, spy-vs-spy powers: the dashboard-camera arrest footage of Bobbi Kristina's fiance-brother, Nick Gordon, being pulled over for driving like a white-nosed maniac in a car that looks like it cost half of Bobbi Kristina's inheritance. ('member? I told you all about it in this post right here.)  
The delectable punchline? He was blasting Whitney music. Click here for the priceless footage by ... who else ... T to the M to the mothereffing Z.