Larry Flynt is a man not unfamiliar with the experience of an overly puritan society getting all pissy with you because you wanted to take some sexy photos and show them to the public. It’s perhaps not surprising, then, that Flynt offered Anthony Weiner a job with the internet group of his Flynt Management Group, LLC just hours after the now former Congressman resigned yesterday over revelations that he too has a fondness of taking photographs of a “romantic” nature. Continue reading
Gossip
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Hello, dollink. Can’t talk long. Something about the Battle of The Bay. They’ve already looted London Drugs and Holt Renfrew. No, I don’t know why, Holt’s doesn’t even carry Axe body spray!
In any case, never let it be said I left you without your gossip links in a time of crisis. So read and enjoy and tie a yellow ribbon dress around the old oak tree.
Hello? Goodbye?
You say yes, I say no. You say Sandra and I say Oh.
You say Di Caprio and I say Leo, Leo, Leo, hello I don’t know why you say goodbye…
Except that I think that’s quite enough of that and George and Ringo concur.
So, luv, how is everything at your Mum’s house? Enough coal in the scuttle? Sardines in the tin? Good, good. Oh, nothing. Me and the band are still on the road, you know how it is. Can’t wait to be back Merseyside. I seem to have picked up this Asian fangirl stalker; she says she’s an artist. I dunno, luv, she doesn’t seem dangerous…
[at which point the phone went dead. the following is a transcript from the John Lennon Artificial Intelligence Project]
Bette! Why’d you do it, Bette?
And why’d you leave the body in my apartment?
Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph on a Tapdancing Donkey, I’m never, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER getting the bloodstains out of the Isfahan. Even Martha Stewart can’t help with this one: I asked. No, she’s a doll, she’d help if she could. Something about parole conditions and abetting a felony. GOD! Why must The Man keep her bound and gagged with red tape? They hate her because she’s a strong woman.
Bette, baby, honey, sweetie, I’m imploring you. Can’t you help me get these bloodstains out?
No, of COURSE I’m not implying that you as a persun of femininity must be relegated to dreary and unfulfilling housework: I was wondering if any of your other ghehs had a cleaning fetish. Continue reading
You want me to bring bail? Again? And what else? Booze. Performing poodles. Celebrities. And particularly Paris Hilton. Ah. I see.
I. See.
Look, darling, I’ve been meaning to say this for some time. I’m cutting you loose, sweetheart. Paying your bail is just throwing good money after bad, and as for performing poodles, well, I saw your last armpiece. Why don’t you give her a call? It shouldn’t cost you more than $25 for a full hour, or her flier is lying.
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Hello? Hello? Look, darling, I’ve no time to explain. Can you come down to the police station with a C-note, an apricot-colored standard poodle that does tricks, and a couple of bottles out of Jerry’s Lagavulin stash? It’s kind of an emergency, and even if it weren’t, it would still be a heck of a party.
If you check out the gossip links below, you’ll see all the other degenerates I’ve invited. No, no, calm down: we won’t ruin your carpets. Why do you think I’m having it at the police station? Well, as a matter of fact I was arrested, but don’t change the subject! Oh, don’t be silly, that Rosalind Russell never meant a thing to me; it was all about the work. No, it’s just a misdemeanor, it’s nothing. Did I say “bring cash?”
And lots of ice, too, darling.
What’s that, darling? You’re not making any sense. Calm down. Stop screaming. BREATHE! Use your words to tell Veronica what’s bothering you.
Oh.
You say the banality of the celebrity-industrial complex in its current iteration has driven you to near-fatal ennui? That you never thought you’d live to see the day when the likes of me were replaced with talentless, tiny orange gnome women with novelty tits and hair?
Me either, babe. Me either.
There now. Easy, boy. Have a saucer of milk and a little time out and when you’re ready you can click over the link to see today’s extra-creamy gossip links with a side of nearly-actual news. There, there. All better now. Continue reading
It’s gossip time!
Hello, darlinks! Suddenly, yes, I AM feeling lucky! But my good luck means your bad luck, because it means that I’m suddenly (apparently) so mojo-licious that I can’t blog in pubs anymore, because I get interrupted too much, which leads to your gossip links being a day late. Do you forgive me?
Calling in from remote outposts, darlings. How is Earth going? Canucks still on track for Lord Stanley’s Cup? O’Bamas still spreading universal cheer? Excellent! I even hear Kim Kardashian is trying to heal white supremacy wounds by getting engaged to yet another K and being all “mixed race babehs are teh best” and good for her.
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Hello darlings. What’s that? You’ve missed me? Oh: You haven’t missed me. And you want me to get with the putting out for you, starting here and now. Okay, sure. I love it when you get all macho on me. And just look at that bitch Bacall, sitting there seething with jealousy. Continue reading