Ten Pounds of Flour Stuffed in a Five Pound Sack

Don't get me wrong, Mariah Carey is not fat. However, bitch is constantly making the mistake most of us ladies have made at least once, letting vanity keep us from accepting our real size. Mariah is probably a size six or eight, which is obviously smaller than the average trick on the street but bitch insists on squeezing her ass into a size four. The irony is that bitch looks worse than she would if she just wore a bigger size. By trying to pretend to be thinner, she actually looks fatter than she really is. Honey, grow up and size the fuck up.

Spotted: Chuck & Blair. Not Spotted: My Self Respect

Here's Ed Westwick and Leighton Meester back on set shooting the third season of my guilty pleasure show, Gossip Girl. Ugh.

I was hoping the summer hiatus would act like my personal methadone and help cure me of this show because it is really, a very stupid show. But seeing Chuck Bass here, I don't know if I'm strong enough. I might be powerless to resist. And I don't like it. I am not proud of myself.

Have you ever been out and about and you run into someone with whom you had a one-night stand and you feel gross for sleeping with him/her cause he/she is pretty douchey but then that disgust quickly turns into self hatred because you realize, given the opportunity, you'd probably hit that shit again? That's how I feel looking at this photo.

However, those suspenders are helping me snap back to reality. They're a little too 'Larry King' for my liking.

Michael Jackson. This is Shit

LONDON (AP) — Michael Jackson has announced a series of London concerts in July.
Thursday's announcement was greeted by thousands of people at London's O2 arena, where the concerts will be staged. Jackson didn't specify how many shows he'll play, though posters have shown he's booked for 10 dates.

The only way I'd pay to see this mess would be if the ticket price included a ride in a DeLorean during which Doc would kick up that motherfucking flux capacitor to 88 and take my ass back to well, '88.

And I say this as a Michael Jackson fan. I was wacko for Jacko when I was a kid. His posters lined my walls, I had a Michael Jackson microphone into which I would warble my favourite MJ songs and yes, I had a sparkly silver glove as well. I remember getting into a passionate argument with one of my little friends about who loved Michael more. Salty drops fell out of my eyes when he was burned shooting the Pepsi commercial. I have the hour-long Making of Thriller on VHS. As an adult (and I use that term loosely) some friends and I formed an unofficial Michael Jackson appreciation society, the MJ Mafia. We had chapters in Ontario, Manitoba and Alberta. A failed attempt to spread into Saskatchewan resulted in an interesting incident in a hotel room bathroom involving an RCMP officer, an officer who would later refer to us as 'lunatics.' But that's a whole other story. The point is, my love of Michael runs deep.

So it's from a place of love that I say, Michael Jackson, the inventor of the moonwalk, the music video pioneer, the amazing entertainer, is dead. My Michael Jackson Beat It outta here in 1991, after the release of Dangerous and before the first round of chid molestation allegations surfaced. In his place is this plastic surgery-addicted, creepy, out-of-touch-with-reality caucasian manwoman child-touching freakshow. Seeing Michael Jackson in concert now would just be a sad and painful reminder of how far he has fallen. I wouldn't see these upcoming shows if someone offered me a free ticket. No thank you. I do not wanna be startin' something with this impostor. Instead I'll stay at home, put on my MJ Mafia t-shirt and listen to either Off The Wall or Thriller and pour out some of my 40 on the sidewalk in honour of my dearly departed Jacko. And that sidewalk my friends, would light up Billy Jean-style.

This is one of the posters I had on my wall...le sigh.....


Michael Jackson
1958 - 1991

Fresca Fizzes About Raw Deal on Sushi Date With Ari Gold

Some broad is mouthing off to Steppin' Out magazine about what she calls her worst.date.ever - with Jeremy Piven.



Simona Fusco (below) complains that the Piv brought his douche game on a recent sushi date. First of all, what is Jeremy "I dropped out of my Broadway play because of sushi-induced mercury poisoning" doing going out for sushi? Oh yeah, he's full of shit. And apparently, sushi.



Anyway, Fusco (I really want to say Fresca) has this to say about the Piv, “he thinks he’s all that. I read an article yesterday that he left a sushi restaurant waiter a photograph of himself as a tip." Wow. Jeremy really does go out for sushi a lot. I'm feeling this. If this recession wasn't raping every orafus of my body, I would eat sushi for breakfast, lunch and dinner, Colin Farrell-style. Wait, bad example.

Anyway, Fresca continues, “He took me out but he didn’t try to win my heart. He just tried to get me very tipsy on sake. He just kept refilling the sake. I like to have my sake, but he was only interested in sex." Uhm, hon, why are you surprised? Jeremy Piven oozes douche. He's Ari Gold so I'd still hit it but seriously girl, what were you expecting? Fresca says the date didn't end well, "he got very annoyed when he realized he wasn’t getting what he wanted. He was very upset. He just drove me home and didn’t say a word, which wasn’t really different from dinner. He was angry. He wouldn’t even open the door for me. I had to open the door myself."


This date doesn't sound too horrible in the grand scheme of life.I mean he didn't go Chris Brown on your ass or anything. If Jeremy Piven wanted to take me out for sushi and ply my ass with sake, I can't say I'd turn that shit down, especially in these harsh economic times.



Sushi porn!

I was out for sushi with a dude recently. First date. We met at a club over vodka sodas (me) and beer (him) and he had told me he liked sushi. Awesome, I thought. So like, a week and a half later, we're at the restaurant and he has no idea what to order. "Order for me," he says. What the FUCK? Fo reals? I'd rather die then let someone else decide my food. Especially sushi. This is serious business. I don't fuck around. Plus, first dates are enough pressure, I don't need the added stress of being responsible for picking someone else's dinner, too. What if he didn't like what I picked? What if he thought it was gross? Dude was NOT about to mack on my food, that's for sure. Sorry, you're stuck with yours, shoulda manned up! In all honesty, I found this to be somewhat of a ladybone killer. Order for me? Really? If he's this passive in a restaurant, what's this dude going to be like in...other places? This is did not bode well. We had three more dates before it fizzled, he was a nice enough dude but I believe the fate was sealed with those three little words "order for me."

Sigh. I need to date Jeremy Piven, don't I?

Where's Tina?

So Chris Brown and Rihanna are back together. They're apparently holed up at P. Diddy's place in Miami trying to work it out.

Ugh.

Please, someone get Tina Turner to give this girl a call and talk some sense into her! I'd suggest Nicole Brown Simpson but well...we know how that story ended.

Seriously, sad, sad times.

No. Just no.

Jessica Simpson's career is in the shitter right now and she's been reduced to playing county fairs in every butt fuck nowhere city in the United States. Either this outfit is the most unflattering atrocity to ever touch anyone's skin or J-Simp has been indulging in all the cotton candy, candy apples and corn dogs at her gigs. Jess is not a huge girl so I think it's the former. These are some serious Bad Idea Jeans.





Dear Jessica Simpson,

Burn this outfit. Now. Burn it, then piss on it like John Mayer allegedly used to piss on you, then bury this shit six feet under and never speak of it again.