Blinded by the light. Continue reading
Gossip
76 posts
Here are today’s blind items. They are gathered from across the internet for your speculation! Today’s post also includes a “solved” item posted today at Blind Gossip. If anyone wants to come up with a good graphic for future blind item posts then please do! Officially, the first one is the only one that has anything to do with “The Hunger Games.” Continue reading
It’s time to get back into the gossip, Crasstalkers. Yes, of course you need to hear about the meaty, crazy, super important things celebrities say and do, because well, hearing about their lives is better than baseball! Well, everything is better than baseball. Now that we’ve come to an understanding about that, who’s been making a mess of themselves? What kind of debauched no-no’s have these A-list, B-list, and David Hasselhoffian-list celebrities, and those who just play them on television, gotten themselves into? Come, sit by Crasstalk, we have scoop, honey chile.
Is Khloe Kardashian a Secret Celebrity Lovechild?
Trying to keep track of all the Kardashian fodder is like trying to ride an avalanche to hell. Simply can’t be done. Regardless, it just keeps coming and coming like a garbage scow full of toxic waste. Continue reading
What’s that? You say you’re calling from 2011 and phonecalls in LA now cost two bits? Dude, that like totally bites! It’s bushwa!
Well, as it’s on your nickel(s) I’ll make it quick. They say Los Angeles is the city of Angels but in my experience, it’s the City where everyone has an Angle, so I’ll get straight to the point. My moll and I here have all the latest celebrity gossip, and we just can’t keep it to ourselves, so consider this your lucky day. Yeah, yeah, don’t cast a kitten, we’ll give you the goods, the genuine goods, none of that phonus bolonus. I know you’re hip to the jive, so pipe down, grab yourself a joram of skee, and listen up, old pal.
By the way, do you have any idea who any of these fellas is? Some Limey just gave me this list and told me to read it to you. Some kinda doctor or something, said he was, but he looked like a fly boy to me.
Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? Oh what am I saying? If you can’t hear me, IT’S YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM, DOLLFACE!!! You’re fired.
Now peel me a grape. And get my lawyer in here. Bernie. No, the other Bernie. This Sid Korshak has to be taught a lesson: nobody pushes Cecil B. DeMille around! Now get my wheelchair. I feel like looking at the little people. I need a good laugh.
ISN’T THAT GRAPE READY YET???
No, NOT a red one. I only like the green ones. I hate Reds. While you’re running for your life to find me some green grapes, I’ll just loll here in my golden bathtub filled with tears freshly wrung from the pillows of virginal prom queens turned used-up chorines, and scrub my back with my souvenir loofah wrenched from the pinnacle of Sagrada Familia. God, I love Culture.
And baby, a semi-unfatted soy latte, half-caf. No foam. Three thirty second shots. Stirred clockwise three times by an ivory and unicorn-hair wand.
I’ll be here reading the trades.
I am so sick of Weinergate. It’s time for the next Congressional penis to go postal and wag about in an inappropriate manner!
Anyhoo. Continue reading
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.
Continue reading