Indiana Jones and his wife Alley McBeal dressed up as an 80’s hair band couple for a Halloween party last night, though I really wish they hadn’t. For Gods sake, he’s 70. And I don’t like seeing Han Solo this way. It’s like having your grandfather come out of the closet.
I’m still not quite sure what model Kate Upton was supposed to be for Halloween last night in New York. She sort of looks like a sexy version of Marilyn Monroe if she were a zombie. The unsexy version of Marilyn Monroe if she were a zombie would be Kirsten Dunst.
Heidi Klum held her annual Halloween party in Vegas this weekend, this time wearing this muscle diagram thing complimented with some sexy heels. So this is sort of what Heidi will look like after she dies and I dig her up and take her on a date.
I’ll add more to this post-Halloween gift as soon as I stop HAHAHAHAHAHA-ing from every one of my fingers.
Okay, I’m back and Im still trying to fight the urge to HAHAHAHAHAHA through my fingertips throughout this entire post, but you must know why the true love bubble out of E!’s ass has burst all up in Ryan Seacrest’s face.
TMZ reports that the completely staged marriage that you thought would last about as long as a fart trying to escape through Kim’s “Canyon of Doom” ass has already died after 72 days. As Pimp Mama Kris Kardashian lines up johns (a.k.a. People Magazine, Life & Style, etc.) and sponsors (a.k.a. Legalzoom, etc.) for the multimillion dollar divorce tour special, Kim’s divorce lawyer Laura Wasser is filing papers in L.A. today.
A source tells TMZ that this trash heap alien-faced whore is filing for divorce from I Already Forgot His Name, because he wants to stay in Minnesota and the flash from a pap’s camera is her oxygen so Kim refuses to leave L.A. They didn’t figure this out before their $10 million dollar wedding, because she was too busy creaming out from every orifice over the thought of how much attention (and non-returnable gifts) her fraudulent marriage would get.
Kim Kuntrashian stuffed $18 million into her gaping wide checking account for the wedding and she’ll probably stuff a few million in for “Kim’s Fairytale Divorce” special. Then in about six months, she’ll do all over again with a 6’3” bag of cold dumb whose soul comes with a price tag on it.
The dead horse that is the sanctity of marriage just got up and reached for a bat to beat itself some more while mouthing the word “sorry” to the gays.
So many minutes of my young life were wasted trying to summon Bloody Mary’s ass to the bathroom mirror when I should’ve just walked in front of the TV during my Tita Vicky’s telenovela-watching time if I really wanted an old lady to scratch at me in the face.
But everybody tried to bring Bloody Mary to the mirror in their own way. The minimalists just lit candles and chanted her name while twirling around. We were not minimalists and turned that mess into a water show spectacular. We lit candles in the bathroom, splashed water on the mirror and chanted her name while one of us spun around and the other one flushed the toilet over and over again. Bloody Mary never showed up—probably because she didn’t want to catch any butt germs that jumped out of the toilet every time we flushed it.
Nowadays, if I want to bring on the real (and better) Bloody Mary, I just stand in front of the bar at T.G.I. Friday’s and twirl around while chanting her name as I throw hundred-peso bills at the bartender.
Belated Happy Slutoween, everyone!
And since we’re on the subject of Slutoween, I also threw in a picture of superstar urinal Kim Kardashian making genitals itch and pores push out milky green pus at her Halloween party in NYC. At least she could blame it on her costume this time.
QUICK PROGRAMMING NOTE: Sorry for the blog post drought. I spent the weekend drowning in donuts and dextrose in Laguna and now I’m back to the land of black skies. Everything will be back to normal tomorrow! Whatever normal is :)
