The Girl Kicked Out The Door

The Girl Kicked Out The Door
By Chloe DInnerrolly (Oct. 11, 2008)

Toilets are flushing counterclockwise, lions are spitting out baby carcasses, and Sarah Palin’s gunning down elderly blue-vested Walmart greeters in shock; it’s a heartbreak that is being felt-up across America. In a bizarre twist of 518 cc’s of silicone and undeniable fate, Hugh Hefner and his main squeeze –out of all the juicy apples that fill up his fruit tree- Holly Madison, have put an end to their storybook romance. After 7 years of Metamucil, boobies, and bliss, the picturesque couple has called it quits, leaving sorority girls scratching their crab bites in bewilderment.

So happily displayed with shimmering body glitter and bottled peroxide on their hit reality show, The Girls Next Door, out of Hef’s bleached and bejeweled girlfriend party of three, which includes co-stars, co-workers, and co-strumpets Kendra Wilkinson and Bridget Marquardt, Holly Madison was crowned The Number 1 Girl and The Number 1 Pooper Scooper. Thanks to the man who paid the way to their rise to fame, the golden trinity seemed to live the luxurious life of buzzing queen bees.

Old enough to be their grandpa’s grandpa, to make things convenient, Hef had the ladies share the wealth, the limelight, last night’s Rice-A-Roni leftovers, and him. As the male audience watched on mute and with their bedroom doors locked, the braless bouncy gals showcase all the glitz, glamour, and fun being part of a polygamous relationship can be. But apparently, sharing isn’t caring.

A true pioneer in literature and the arts, over 50 years ago, Hef had a big idea behind a simple concept, and launched a little known nudie mag titled, Playboy, to which over time has snowballed into a million-dollar empire, and the natural next step in a starlet’s career after her stint with Disney. (Check out newsstands in 2010 for November centerfold Miley Cyrus.) The wanton elder has accomplished more than a lifetime of work in his 82 years, and intends on keeping his business going full speed, ignoring the signs that his tank is running on empty.

He may not have his original set of teeth or walk without the help of orthopedic slippers, but the silver fox has those age-spotted hands full. After a hard day’s work at the office, going over countless roll after roll of film filled with naked women, the old man is exhausted. The last thing he wants is to come home to a committed relationship with the same ol’ boring girl, who is already pushing 30, and insists on filling his doddering mind with crazy talk of marriage and babies. It’s 4:15, Hef just wants a 5-minute handjob and to sip his dinner of Ensure in peace.

The top half of the hourglass is rapidly running out of sand, and Mr. Playboy doesn’t want the party to end. To the inventor of the game, a worthwhile relationship has no strings attached, g-strings included. While other men his age –most of whom reside six feet underground- are collecting social security checks, Hef’s still collecting V-cards.

Unfortunately, Madison never picked up a copy of Playboy before and was naïve enough to believe that you CAN teach an old dog new tricks, even one as misbehaved as Hef; who at his wrinkly age, is still sniffing crotches, humping guests’ legs, and jumping at the chance to run out the door to mount the neighbor’s new poodle. The Big Dog doesn’t even need to perform special rollover tricks to get a treat, or several treats at the same time, for that matter. He has been overstuffed and underdressed for decades. The spoiled fossil is a creature of habit, and no amount of last minute obedience training is going to stop him from drooling, shedding, and peeing all over the floor.

Luckily for Madison, the peroxide-blonde believes in magic, for the lovesick ex has already bunny-hopped into the greasy arms of Mindfreak magician, Criss Angel. After becoming accustomed to a man who lacks the strength to lift a box of Lucky Charms and whose sack hangs below his knees, the new hookup is an odd one for Madison, as Angel is able to guess her card, pull a rabbit out of his hat, and magically elevate things without the use of a handful of blue pills.

Despite the cankerous-colossal split, Madison and the other 2 bed buddies are set to continue taping new seasons of The Girls Next Door as an educational tool for teenage girls nationwide, documenting the logical way to find success. There is no need in breaking your piggy bank to scrounge enough for tuition, as that certificate of completion from ITT Tech Career College is unnecessary. Rather, put that money where your second cousin’s mouth has been and invest in a quality boob job, leaving your breasts as round as two snow globes, to hold the attraction of a potential sugar daddy –or in Hef’s case, Splenda Grand Pappy- to make your shameless salary dreams come true.

Although rumor has it, Madison is not the only one said to go. News is surfacing that the Fab Four is breaking up altogether. The girls may all soon move out, leaving Kendra in a shrunk football jersey laughing as she mumbles the word, “hippopotamus” and Bridget decked out in pink frou-frou online shopping elsewhere for Cookie Monster costumes for herself and for her cat. The Girls Next Door will take a literal perspective, as they become the girls who really do live next door. But need not worry, the bedrooms in the Playboy mansion are never left vacant.

Whether Hef has his Miracle Ear on to hear it or not, death is knocking quite loudly. And death is not something to look forward to; a skeleton in a black cloak isn’t the idea of sexy. Hef’s not planning on spending his remaining years, if not months, tied down, if it’s not in the fun way. If the future follows out to Hef’s agenda, he’s going down with a pipe and a smile, as 2 young blondes go down on him.

Udderly Delicious No More

Udderly Delicious No More
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (Sept. 27, 2008)

Lactating mothers: crunch into a Vlasic pickle and beware! Hold your slobber babies close and your dripping saggy-bagged boobs closer. Armed with picket signs and breast pumps PETA is on the prowl, sneaking into nurseries, bedrooms, and KB Toy Stores, to fill up empty Quaker Oats containers by the gallon with your mother's milk, all in hopes consumers have a change of heart, along with a change of taste.

In a recent letter to the men behind the name, the magic, and the 42 fat grams per serving of Ben & Jerry's, the animal rights group is asking the ice cream chain to substitute one of its most important ingredients; milk, with the stuff that leaks through the uniform of your postpartum Denny's waitress. Claiming breast milk is to be a better and healthier switch for ice cream fanatics, unlike cow's milk, it is least likely to reek from sun exposure, go chunky after its sell-by date, or be laced with crystal meth.

On behalf of cows worldwide, PETA is standing on top of their soapbox on all fours to say, "Enough is enough! They will no longer be the milk vending machines for the human population! Cows are tired of being yanked around! It stops now!" To which the hefty farm animals added, "Moo."

The hobnob and hapless activist group's solution to the moo moo juice boycott is to have nursing women create, use, and sell out their own milky ways from their own personal mammary glands.

Never mind the droopy diaper youngins who depend on breast milk for nutrition, growth, and developmental bling-bling playa skills in the first place. The rightful owners of the juicy jugs are expected to cry hungry, as tubbos in front of the TV eat up in delight. Dollar General cashier, stay-at-home and out of work mothers are ready to take advantage of the new career opportunity and milk 'em ta-tas for all they're worth, for they have not one, but 2 packages filled with liquid gold resting inside their maternity bras. "Sorry Baby, mama gots to get paid."

As infantile obesity goes into a decline, cow unemployment is set to reach an all time high. Countless of cows will be out of work, standing in line alongside Danny Bonaduce at the social security office. Those whose udders once provided delicious goodness for millions will be let-go and forced into early retirement, set to lead an unproductive and duller life, with only the occasional tip and occasional poop to look forward to.

The BBW stars of the Ben & Jerry's logo are to be replaced with the tease of a sloppy and sleep deprived woman lifting up a vomit-stained Tshirt, exposing her gnawed left nipple. Production is in the beginning works for the future campaign for Ben & Jerry's newest flavors, Chug-A-Jug, Boobie Goodies, and Tasty Tits.

Unfortunately, not everyone picks up a jazzy Ben & Jerry's carton while browsing Winn-Dixie's frozen food aisle. If PETA is successful in passing their Cow Labor Law and with the limited supply of trickling baby mamas, Edy's, Breyer's, and other ice cream brands must rely on other sources. So go ahead and fill up your bowl with 3 scoops of Rocky Road, unbeknownst to you, portions have come from a gorilla's hairy teat.

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Easy, Breezy, Beautiful Ellen DeGeneres?

Easy, Breezy, Beautiful Ellen DeGeneres?
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (Sept. 19, 2008)

The theory that a lesbian's idea of being fashion forward comes in denim shirts with cut off sleeves, Simon Cowell haircuts, and Berkenstocks is just an old civil-unioned wives tale. No matter how many power drills fill up their garage, lesbians are women too and are just as expected to spend a hefty penny on compacts, nail glue and thong panty-liners like all the straight girls, regardless of the tool belts they swing.

Breaking down the saw dust over Cosmo's Musts sterotype with a goofy dance -and a just as goofy smile- Ellen DeGeneres has become the newest spokesmodel for CoverGirl cosmetics. Dressed in a blazer, New Balance tennis shoes and a shiny new wedding ring, she bumps the closed-closeted big bad mama jamma, Queen Latifah out of her previous position.

Not one you'd expect to pose in front of a camera, DeGeneres is definitely one of those, "Listen El, you got a great personality, but--" types. Her close-up beauty shots may be blurry and out of focus, but her nice funny gal persona and loaded bank account are as clear as day. With no modeling experiance whatsoever, the mop-top scored a million dollar deal, as Tyra Banks spends months training aspiring models, making them strut in an infested shark tank in meat-covered underwear in order to land a job with CoverGirl; when all it really takes is a distinctive nose and a harmless PG-Rated Brangelina joke.

CoverGirl now embraces their newest motto: It's What's On The Inside That Counts But You Can Really Use Some Concealer.

With DeGeneres as the fresh pony face for the cosmetic line, the move is sure to lasso in a much needed clientelle. Women who never bothered with makeup, hairspray, or a penis are now cramming CVS aisles after getting word from the Godmother. Tearing up the Living Lez Guidebook, chicks who once wore their scars like a badge of honor ("I got this one on my cheek after my girl broke my glasses. She was sitting on my face when it happened") are now required to pick up CG's new liquid foundation and blend, blend blend.

Equality for all.

Why should drag queens and trannies have all the fun putting on a fabulous face for their Cher tribute show and why should heteosexual women be the only ones to get into fender benders attempting to put on mascara while driving on the freeway?

Putting their famined staff to work, CoverGirl is expanding to a very large and left-out demographic, and there's no better spokesmodel to reach out to their target audience than Ellen DeGeneres -- unless, this unravels into another Anne Heche blunder.

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OMG! LC Crooks and Writes a Book

OMG! LC Crooks and Writes a Book
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (Sept. 14, 2008)

Over the years many women have played major roles in the literary world. As authors, poets, and hot air balloon columnists, several are successful in their contribution to the written word. Iconic greats like Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, and Tori Spelling now welcome in the latest to join the Prose Hoes gang, Lauren "LC" Conrad, who as of last week, only expressed love in writing by signing her name at the bottom of a Piggly Wiggly on Rodeo receipt.

Somebody call Dr. Seuss! A floozy with a Blackberry is on the loose!

Lauren Conrad: Laguna Beach alum, former Teen Vogue intern, fabulous fashion designer, and blank-stare extraordinaire, has just landed a 3-book deal with Harper Collins. The Hills faux-reality (and alleged sex tape) star is planning on penning up a series of YA novels that are to be found in the Teen Spirituality section at the neighborhood Borders, sharing the same shelf with Senseless Credibility, The Swell Mar and Are You There God? It's Me, Rumor Willis. Although fictional, the novels are said to be inspired by the uplifting tales of Conrad's own bitches from riches life.

Protagonist Susan Pronad is set out to make a life for herself in Los Angeles working as a fake strip club promoter, wearing oversized sunglasses and always showing up fashionably late to hot parties thrown by Kathy Griffin. The plot revolves around her and her friends who tend to overdramatize minor altercations such as, "I'm sorry, but you got a Power Muff. I just can't be friends with someone who wears fur." Hours upon end are spent just talking and talking and talking about oneanother in various settings: beside the inflatable pool, on their RAC rented couch, sitting in a Dave & Buster’s booth, and at the Save The Penny Loafers annual potato-sack race. As camera crews are granted access and if the girls make a conscious effort to memorize their scripts beforehand and to not obviously direct their eyes at the cue cards, will Susan's dream of becoming an authentic human being come true?

In all hopes Conrad's writing style is capable of capturing the same apathetic and monotone narration she displays on her own show, as Pulitzer Prize nominations are on the horizon. Although insiders are hinting the books are being ghostwritten by professional beloved, Holly Madison.

English majors dressed in black turtlenecks across the country are angrily chugging down caramel macchiatos at the news. There is no fairness as an uneducated spoof effortlessly scoops up a publisher, while others are obligated to sleep with the tubby-pizza-faced receptionist at Random House and anxiously await, while their book of poems, My Last Breath. Did I Remember to Use AquaFresh? gathers dust.

As Audrina puts her freshly baked rack to use filming the blockbuster, Into the Blue 2: Drowning Never Felt So Long, and with Heidi getting cozy in a recording studio finishing up her highly-awaited super smash album alongside cult leader, doofus, and fiancé Spencer, The Hills girls are breaking out like Jessica Simpson's face in her Proactiv commercials. Never the one to play copycat or trim Jason Wahler's beard, Conrad was left without any options, a book deal was the only way to go in expanding the LC empire.

Unfortunately, teenage America doesn't bother reading Pop Tart warning labels, Swiffer Wet Jet manuals, or Planned Parenting pamphlets, let alone a fictional book based on a life that was fictional to begin with. Reading a book can take days, sometimes weeks! There is no sense in going through the time and trouble when The OC, 90210, and That's So Raven complete seasons are already out on DVD.

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The Phelps Phenomenon

The Phelps Phenomenon
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (August 18, 2008)

He's the Little Engine That Could, only he's not so little. At 6'4", he topples over most of the employees at the local Home Depot and with an arm span that can wrap around Kim Kardashian's ass twice, has the machinery to swim as fast and frantic as a Cuban refugee dog-paddling his way to the Florida coast. Collecting Olympic gold medals like Brody Jenner collects STDs, he has freestyled, breaststroked, butterflied, and stolen the title of America's Greatest Hero from Howie Mandell in just one week.

He's a record breaker, moneymaker, gold-taker, and shoulder-shaker; he's Michael Phelps.

Only 23 years-old and he's already flashing more gold medallions than a Colombian drug lord, or any other athlete in the history of the Olympics for that matter. The Speed Racer is the first to ever score 8 for 8 at a single Olympic Games, and throughout the height of his popularity, has never once slept with Paris Hilton. What a feat.

A media frenzy has exploded. From every toe-dip-temperature-test to the internet porn he surfs through between swimming meets, TV cameras have broadcasted his every move, every dive, and every bowel movement, disallowing him any privacy or sanitary wipes -just as Michael Lohan would demand it if ever granted his own reality show. (I Don't Know How to Shut Up. When Will I Ever Learn That Nobody Cares? Please Look At Me! with Michael Lohan)

Program directors are making it a top priority to zoom-in on the stars and stripes on the bulge of his swimsuit, making sure all the world knows where he comes from. The United States may be the land of the fatties, with Ritalin doped-up school children and a president who looks like a chimpanzee, but the country's also home to a vicious swimming maniac of a champion who can effortlessly swipe your pot of gold, accomplishing it all on foreign soil and chlorine pools. In your face, Commies!

Americans haven't been this patriotic since Nipplegate 2004 during Super Bowl XXXVII.

It's a nationwide outbreak of The Phelps Phever; symptoms include head bursting screaming at your television, attempting to backstroke in your half-filled bathtub, throwing on a pair of swimming goggles and aSpeedo to take a trip to the grocery store, and pissing a mix of Vitamin Water and Sunny Delight. It's very easy to catch, as the excitement is spreading quickly. Parents are advised to vaccinate their infants.

As Michael Mania sweeps the nation, major million dollar endorsement deals for the young swimming soldier are beginning to follow. Nike has called and so has Geico and 1800MATTRESS. With his hairless armpits and non-existant happy trail, assumingly there are no tangles in his underground jungle, as Phelps is now the new spokesperson for Gillette razors.

Although his chin can challenge Jay Leno in a faceoff and his ears pan out like wings on a pterodactyl, that can ultimately work against him in the water, or with the ladies, his features are no hindering to his speed, agility, and universal fame.

He can mash-potatah and do the twist; Michael Phelps is capable of just about anything he sets his mind on. It's going to take a hefty amount of supersonic fairy dust to fill his shoes-- but Michael Phelps doesn't even own a pair of shoes!

Scoot Over Sally O'Malley: Madonna's 50!

Scoot Over Sally O'Malley: Madonna's 50!
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (August 16, 2008)

She can kick, stretch, kick, and contort herself into a human pretzel while wearing thigh-high boots. Madonna's 50-years-old, ladies and gentlemen.

With half a century and a couple of G-Shots under her belt, it seems the blonde ambitionist has already done it all; from being the most successful female recording artist of all time, to starring in critically ashamed movies, to smuggling Malawian babies, to kissing Britney Spears, to conceiving unibrow-children, to even releasing photo documentation of herself having sex with a dog. The woman surely fills up quite the lengthy resume.

Although some of her accomplishments in the bizz have ultimately bitten her in the ass (pun intended), like a true Superstar, Madonna continues to rise above it all. No stranger at trying anything once (Vanilla Ice, anyone?), throughout the bad choices she may have committed in her 25+ career, Lady M is still going strong. (No, really. She's like super strong. Have you seen the biceps bursting out of her sleeveless Versace dresses? She can totally take down lesbo-buddy, Rosie O’Donnell. No sweat.)

Born Madonna Louise Ciccone, Little M was raised in a suburban Michigan town in a Roman Catholic family of six. Fifty years later, as the crowned Queen of Pop, she holds a larger fan base than the original Lady Madonna herself. Immaculate Conception? Ha! Try the Immaculate Collection. A portrait of Madonna's vagina miraculously appearing on your morning toast is worth far more on eBay than what that grilled cheese sandwich with the imprint of the Virgin Mary's face ended up selling for.

She has contributed so much to the world, and it's not only with her body-moving music or her SEX book penmanship or her role in one of the best movies of all time, Desperately Seeking Susan.

As the poster child for Botox done right and an English accent done wrong, Madonna's been the go-to gal for the latest fads for years. In the beginning of her career she had little girls hanging out in malls everywhere up to their elbows in plastic bracelets, and in the late 80s made cleavage church attire. Following into the 90s, the modern day housewife was sporting a Jean-Paul Gaultier cone bra under her cashmere sweater, and because of her newfound faith, towards the end of the decade many whitebread Americans were getting Henna tattoos.

Nowadays she has everyone in Hollywood scrabbling through their grandma's sewing kit, looking for red string to tie around their wrist. Having the power to influence people into converting into a new religion; now THAT's a trendsetter!

Much to the Moral Majority's dissatisfaction, Madonna isn't going anywhere. Still dishing out top-selling albums, collaborating on tracks with the young and the studly (Mr.JT), selling out stadiums around the world, and jotting down new names in her little overstuffed black book. (Filed under "R" for "Rodriguez, Alex") Madge proves age isn't anything but a number.

After all these years, everyone is still interested. So shut up and listen, because Madonna always has something to say. Her Majesty isn't retiring her crown anytime soon. Bow down to her. Bow down.

("Who is Sally O'Malley?")

Girl You Know It's True Ooh Ooh Ooh That Ain't You

Girl You Know It's True Ooh Ooh Ooh That Aint You
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (August 14, 2008)

We can't continue to fill their heads with false hopes. You gotta teach girls when they're young; no matter how talented you may be, whether it's in acting, singing, or underwater basket weaving, if you don't have the pretty face to make yourself a star, you must settle for a spot in a dark planetarium.

At age 7, Yang Peiyi has learned just that. The little China girl was scheduled to sing a patriotic tune at the Summer Olympic Opening Ceremony in Beijing in front of the mega loads of a worldwide broadcast. But after a better look at her less-than-glamorous head shot, the tiny Hannah-Montana-wishful was pulled from the performance like a bad night at the Apollo at the very last minute.

Her munchkin features and the obvious weight problem in her baby-fat physique, were found unsatisfactory in representing the Chinese nation, and was quickly replaced by 11-year-old model/actress/gecko, Lin Miaoke, who although lacked the vocal chords, had some things Peiyi didn’t: composure, experience, and a full set of teeth.

Learning from the best performers in the US, such as Ashlee Simpson and Britney Spears, the wise elders in charge of the ceremony decided that lip-synching was the answer to their ugly dilemma, and ultimately pasted Peiyi's voice onto Miaoke's face, unbeknownst to the spectators around the globe, or the deaf.

Putting her acting skills to the test, as Peiyi belted it out behind the scenes, Miaoke simply stood in front of the international audience, gleaming and eating up instant fame and publicity, all by playing make-believe. (Pretty much how Bill O’Reilly acts in front of the mirror every morning while listening to Barbra Streisand.)

A crime has been committed. Billions of people have been deceived. If this were the United States Senate, both girls would've been impeached from office by now. But again communism plays a whole different ballgame and the girls are off the hook.

Hopefully, Miaoke does not continue performing concerts and follow in the footsteps of American Grammy-winning, leotard-sporting lip-synching super-duo, Milli Vanilli. The Chinese cannot exactly pull off a dreadlocks-waving persona; their hair is too thin.

As far as Peiyi's singing career, there isn't too much concern. She's still young, and already promises a great face for radio.

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Edwards Admits to Scoring Extra Set of Tits

Edwards Admits to Scoring Extra Set of Tits
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (August 10, 2008)

Life’s tough when you’re a good looking politician. With so many expectations demanded from the public eye; from your standpoint on the panda-gonorrhea epidemic to the side you part your hair; it’s difficult to keep it all together. Governors, mayors, and even the snot-nosed 5th grade class president, are all responsible in holding the image of a model American citizen, which means no satanic goat-roasting rituals, no chewing gum with your mouth open, and surely no scoring pussy on the side.

Yet periodically the wedding ring becomes a piece of scrap metal sitting on a car dashboard, and slip-ups occur, because when you’re a handsome man in the political game, like Kevin Bacon raising havoc in a no-dancing rural town, everybody cuts footloose! Women with overly-teased hair and runs in their stockings, are constantly hopping onto your campaign bus, like drunk groupies piling into the back of Tommy Lee’s tour bus, eager to personally hand-in their voting ballots.

The sexual temptation is everywhere, heavily layered in Spandex undergarments, ruffled blouses, and overpowering shoulder pads. It’s an occupational hazard that is hard to resist.

Take the recent victim to step into the cabinet-filling seduction, Mr. John Edwards. Unfortunately the cutie-patootie did not read the How to Be A Politik-Playa Handbook thoroughly. The 55-year-old North Carolina senator and former Democratic presidential runner, for weeks had been rumored to be in the acts of a love affair with a younger, thinner, crazier, blonder woman who also allegedly spit out a little baby Edwards without the wife’s knowing- or involvement.

Finally on Friday, in order to clear his name and soiled boxer briefs, Edwards put an end to the media speculation and confessed to ABC News, “Yes, I shoplifted the pooty.”

Mostly known as John Kerry’s running mate in the 2004 presidential election, Edwards was the sweet ice cream to Kerry’s rugged waffle cone. A handsome Southern man who came with the chubbo wife, the kids, and Americana package, Edwards had all the women in high-rise Mom Jeans across the country swooning, wanting to break that package wide open.

As luck would have it, ultimately his pretty face couldn’t land him a seat in The White House. As if being labeled America’s Next Top Loser wasn’t enough strain on his gray hairs, coincidently in the days following, the missus of 27 years, Elizabeth Edwards, was diagnosed with breast cancer.

When your girl’s got the cancer boobs, what’s a guy to do?

Chemotherapy is not exactly arousing nor is not being able to hold slumber parties with college buddies in the Lincoln Bedroom. Hmph. Surrounded by such frustrating circumstances, how does one turn that frown upside down?

Like the Leon Phelps before him, the ladies’ man within was unleashed. No need for a glass of Courvoisier here, all Edwards had to do was flash those pearly whites and swing back that luscious mane, and it was bound to make ‘em polyester suits drop into ‘em birthday suits.

The technique worked, and was exactly how he met Ms. Rielle Hunter in 2006. And oh boy, did those two have their fun. But sadly, the escapades were put to a sudden halt with the sounds of a shrieking baby.

Knocking up a heterosexual white woman while your wife’s at home taking Tamoxifen pills, Edwards stayed true to his Democratic roots. Unlike Republican sex scandals, which usually involve a transvestite, a crack pipe, and a public bathroom.

But wait, like a good Danielle Steel novel, the plot thickens. Although Edwards admitted, “I DID have sexual relations with that woman.” he denies claims that he is the father of Hunter’s daughter, who was born February of the year, and is demanding a paternity test to prove he doesn’t carry super sperm.

Taking notes from the guests seen on Maury Polvich, in his defense Edwards states, “How can she pin this baby on me? She ain’t nothin’ but a golddiggin’ hoe! Gobblin’ my Benjamins! That ain’t my baby! We stopped messin’ before she got pregnant. Maybe I ain’t VP, but I can do math! That bitch was screwin’ the whole campaign party, shit… I love my wife. Vote for me!”

All this slander and jibber-jabber, and time is being wasted. We can easily clear this matter up in a 15-minute segment on an one hour talk show. The number is 1-800-45-MAURY. That’s 1-800-456-2879.

“When it comes to 5 month-old Frances Quinn Hunter, John Edwards... you ARE the panties dropper!"

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You. It's What's For Dinner

You. It’s What’s For Dinner.
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (June 21, 2008)

The food crisis around the world is amongst us and in full swing- sadly, without one chicken wing. People in third-world countries are gathering around a trashcan for snacks and eating rotten-cabbage-sewage-soup for dinner, and for some in Czech Republic, the epidemic has resulted into serving up a hot plate of one’s own children, with a hint of garlic.

Kalra Mauerova, a mother of two, has been arrested and charged with playing with her food, after chowing down on pieces of both her sons. However, she wasn’t stingy. As head of the household, she was thoughtful to make enough sauteed pinky toes for the rest of the family as well.

The New Age Hansel and Gretel, Ondrej and Jakub Mauerova, ages 8 and 10, were kept alive, between mother’s hearty meals, shackled up in cages like other forms of poultry, or Amy Winehouse on a rough day in between crack binges.

The general public would consider this a form of bad parenting. Cannibalism is never once mentioned in Dr. Spock’s Best Finger Food For Kids. Yet, the act is not completely irrational. Not everybody can afford culinary school. We’re not all Rachel Ray with the flattest chest on TV. Many people are left to make use of the resources around them to satisfy their appetite. There’s no sell-by date on humans. Raw flesh is always fresh.

Don’t hate until you’ve eaten a piece of Ethan, okay? People are so reluctant to order something new off the menu. A few are adventurous enough to enjoy crispy frog legs, fried earthworms, and chewy cow tongue, but taking a bite out of your child’s forearm is considered crossing the line? What’s so wrong with expanding one’s palette? I’m sure Anthony Bourdain is no stranger to the taste of an 8oz. grilled bicep.

With all the blood involved in such raw meat, they better be using napkins! Cannibal or no cannibal, there’s still something called manners.

As a result to her offspring buffet, the all-you-can-eat mother has had her children taken away, but I doubt she’ll starve. In case Mauerova ever gets hungry, pregnancy is all that’s necessary. Fruit of the womb; a baby is basically the purest form of produce.

But it seems silly to have the timer set to 9 months for a good meal, when there’s an Arby’s drive-thru just around the corner. At the same time, roast beef doesn’t compare to roast feet.


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-Hey Mom, what’s for dinner?
-Look in the mirror, sweetie!

Legally Bimbo with Tila Tequila

Legally Bimbo with Tila Tequila
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (June 15, 2008)

Changing the world, one tongue bath at a time, MTV’s own reality-dating spit-swapping princess, Tila Tequila has single handedly (pun intended) legalized gay marriage in the state of California. Thanks to her –and only her- same-sex couples are finally allowed to wed, and also get a free bikini wax with their jager bombs.

With absolutely no political background, Tila proves a greasy skank in a string bikini, holds much more power than any lawmaker. Just ask Democratic pant-suit-loser, Hillary Clinton, who passed on her husband’s campaign advice.

A bisexual woman, who enjoys playing with both baseball bats and catcher’s mitts, Tila insists that it was indeed, her own television show, Shot of Love with Tila Tequila that played the focus factor in the US’s growing acceptance in homosexuality.

Unlike other popular dating TV programs, such as The Bachelor and Flavor of Love, that discriminate towards the slutty ways of one gender, Tila Tequila mixes it up a bunch of Frat-crashing-horndogs, along with a batch of dyke and lipstick lesbians, both drama-loving teams battling it out for Mistress McSlutty's affection -- and usually, it’s everyone at the same time.

Helping build gay tolerance in America, Tila Tequila shines light on the boundlessness and seriousness of true love, by having her hopeful contestants, hump inflatable animals, eat raw pig testicles, and make out in VD-infested Jacuzzis.

Opening eyes by opening her legs. History in the making. So take note. This will all be on your test later


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(All I gotta say is, make up your damn mind! Those bisexuals are so greedy; sitting on a fence, while sitting on someone’s face. )

It's a Nice Day For a Wentz Wedding

It's a Nice Day for a Wentz Wedding
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (May 18, 2008)

Like rushing to the toilet after a Taco Bell dinner, Ashlee Simpson has charged down the altar, dragging fiancée, Pete Wentz, by the back of his ugly gray hoodie, with her. Directly following in the strappy heels of her older sister Jessica, Ashlee has not only starred in her own reality show and dished out a couple of crummy albums, but has just gotten married to a boy band member, as well- a just as queer, Fall Out Boy band member, that is.

Although both Simpson sisters each have some celebrity interest, a Youth Minister turned money-hungry-exploiting- manager of a father and 2 big boobs, Ashlee now hides a small bundle under her LAMB shirt, that Jessica has never had the opportunity of smuggling. For the first time, the 23 year-old younger sibling has beaten her big sis to the punch, in the baby bump race!

(Poor Jessica didn't even know they were running. It's not like she had a chance at winning lately, especially now since her Dallas Cowboys boyfriend, Tony Romo, has just said "No mo'!")

Quite possibly the smartest career move Simpson has made since dancing the jig after her SNL lip-synching mishap, there is no greater promotional tool than getting knocked up. Oh how the public loves to watch celebrities put on the pounds. We can't help to read the tabloids and eat up those ballooning-figure pics for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

A Hollywood pregnancy guarantees at least 12 full months of press coverage, from Whoa! She's About to Unload to Baby's First Magazine Cover. Throw in a shotgun wedding and things will throw Ryan Seacrest into seizure. Any publicity can only help Simpson's new album that has already crashed and burned, after less than a month of its release. The little growing surprise fetus couldn't have arrived at a better time. Motherhood may give Simpson's breasts a little sag, but it's sure to give her career a little boost.

The emergency nuptials between Simpson and Wentz came after only a few weeks of their engagement. A baby born out of wed-lock; that is so punk rock. But this couple is so not, punk rock. Wedding attire was most likely bought from Hot Topic stores, with the groomsmen in argyle sweater vests under black blazers with cartoon skull crests on the breast pocket. While the bridesmaids wore polka-dotted dresses over neon tights with plastic pearls and plenty of colorful rubber bracelets.

As the spunky twosome exchanged vows, it appeared as a moment stolen from the movie Beetlejuice.

Of course later, at the dinner reception, Maid-Of-Honor Jessica, looked up from her plate confused and asked a nearby guest "Is this chicken what I have or is this fish?"

To which he looked at her and answered, "That's a cheeseburger."

America's Next Top Model Finishes Big

America's Next Top Model Finishes Big
by Chloe Dinnerrolly (May 15, 2008)

America's Next Top Model's newest winner has her cake and eats it too- with chocolate mousse and fudge-vanilla swirl ice cream, along with a side order of lemon meringue pie. Let's just hope she remembers to save a piece for Tyra!

Hailing from northern Florida, 20 year-old Whitney Thompson is not the kind of girl who's ashamed to ask for seconds, as long as it's not 2nd place. And with the ambition that matches her appetite, the curvy gal has been named the first plus-size champion in ANTM history, and history of reality series everywhere, for that matter.

With the season finale of Cycle 10, America's Next Top Model welcomed in the size 10 along with it. Finally getting some recognition, girls with real body shapes across the country are overjoyed with the outcome. Real girls, whose thighs stick together whenever they sit and arm flab that flaps with each effortless move, oh-so proudly, like an American flag waving in the wind.

Some may say the Southern belle holds the body-type of the average American woman, but the average American woman is fat. This nation is built on McDonald's $1 Menu and the motto: More is more, but now, like an STD on Lindsay Lohan's toilet seat, the theory has spread- to the fashion world, no less!

The success of America's Next Top Model is not a tough equation to figure out. We love to judge. Whether it’s falling off a runway in 6in stilettos, sobbing over a haircut, or getting called a tranny look-a-like by Paulina Porizkova, we love to watch thin and beautiful girls being made as fools. It makes the hair growing on our upper lip not so bad. Thanks to the show, we don't have to rely on sneaking behind someone's back in order to talk smack; it's now as easy as sitting in front of the TV.

Yes, the fashion world is completely unrealistic compared to what you see in the mirror and on the street, or dare I even say, on the scale, but that's a huge part of its appeal. Getting paid thousands of dollars to wear designer gowns, dating and partying with the hottest celebs, and living off a diet of cocaine, champagne and cigarettes, with the daily ExLax? It's a fantasy world.

Due to jealousy, insecurity, and straight-out haterade, it's nearly impossible to keep oneself from pointing out the imperfections of these almost-perfect people. It's fun. But here comes Whitney with her badonkadonk and ANTM brand behind her, to totally flip it. Like always, the big girl spoils the fun, because with a plus-size model, there's guilt involved. Who are we to pick apart someone who is not 34-24-36, while we watch and sit on our couch pigging out on Tostitos? It's hard to go against one of your own.

This is nothing but bringing false hope to young girls everywhere. What are these crazy ideas we're filling our children’s' minds with? As if a fatty can advance in society.

Personally, my heart broke once Fatima was shockingly eliminated from the final 3 in the competition. USA for Africa, my ass.

Wait, what's that sound coming down the runway? Ah, it's the rumble of the thunder thighs, with Whitney leading the way!

Mini-Post :Survey Says Gobble Gobble!

Mini-Post: Survey Says Gobble Gobble!
by Chloe Dinnerrolly (May 4, 2008)




Something you confuse your 9 year-old son for while out hunting?

TURKEY!

Source

Rocky the Grizzly Says He's BEAR-ly Guilty

Rocky the Grizzly Says He’s BEAR-ly Guilty:
In His Own Words
As Told to Chloe Dinnerrolly (April 25, 2008)

RAWR! I’m a bear!

I tower over you like a tidal wave set to crush and hold the weight of 500 bags full of canned beef. I have claws that can rip the skin off your face, along with the strength to mangle and distort your body into my own (non-)living Picasso.

I never floss, I never wipe, and I never shave- because I am a bear.

Sometimes people forget this, and I’m not too sure why. Humans claim to be the evolved and smarter species, with your hybrid cars and spray-on tans, yet you lack the common knowledge that I can kill you, as effortlessly as popping open a can of beer, because I am a bear.

My name is Rocky, and I’m a Grizzly. I appear in movies and TV commercials, and occasionally perform stunts for your stupid enjoyment. Things were already turning sour, when I recently got myself into a little predicament.

You see, earlier this week I accidentally “attacked” one of my trainers. I took a little-itty-bitty bite out of his neck, and ultimately it led to his death.

As sad as everyone appears to be, I have to admit, this is sort of a rite a passage for me. As a young cub, I always enjoyed tales of the violent acts committed by my ancestors that have taken place over centuries. Deep down inside, I feel whole.

Although, as easy as it is for me to take someone’s life, I’m telling you, this one was a total slip. Aren’t we allowed one of those every now and then? What’s manslaughter between coworkers, huh?

Look, I’m sorry- then again I lack compassion and empathy when it comes to human beings. Accidents happen. He was handling me; I’m a bear

Times are hard enough, with having to add the box-office flop, Semi-Pro, onto my resume. I’m only 5 years old and already getting dragged down with Will Ferrel’s dwindling career. There is not enough awareness of the pressures on Animal Stars in Hollywood. But I’m not an animal star; I’m a bear.

I am warrior of the forest.

If I had it my way, I’d be living it up in the Alaskan wilderness, alongside my girl with the biggest and hairiest ass in the Pacific Northwest. You know, one of those classy broads that can rip up a lost and mindless camper, and make a necklace of their intestines.

In the end, I guess all I can say is, “Oops! My bad.” But how many times do I have to repeat myself? I’m a frickin’ bear!

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Abortion Girl Makes a Swirl with Spin Art

Abortion Girl Makes a Swirl with Spin Art
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (April 20, 2008)

No matter what mood you may be in, I don't know of anyone who'd pass up on a good dead baby joke. But of course, leave it to some performance artist with matted hair to screw it up for the rest of us, because a new sanguinary controversy ain't bringing in any LOLs.

Aliza Shvartz, an art student at Yale University, decided for her final project to knock herself up only to knock the embryos out, over and over again. The art comes in when she videotapes it all (Hopefully with a tripod; nothing more nauseating than watching a shaky screen!) and uses the blood and matter collected from her abortions as her medium.

Using your own blood after running out of paint is understandable, but this is kind of pushing it. There's no word on where or how she was able to preserve her bodily deposits during the process, but it wouldn't be too surprising to find them all stored in her own refrigerator, right next to last night's Chinese.

Shvartz is one of those Do-It-Yourself types. And when it came to getting pregnant, did things a little differently than the average drunk college skank. She didn't actually have sex with anyone, since men can be so undependable. And when it came to the periodical evictions, didn't even bother going to an abortion clinic. Instead she took semen donations -from buds with plenty to share- to insert into her snatch with a syringe. Then later she'd open up a box of Plan B and wait it out --sitting alongside an egg timer. DING!

Sounds like another attention-grabby feminist with grizzly bear armpits and misfitted clothes on the prowl, but I doubt even Ani DiFranco would have Shvartz's back on this one.

Such an ordeal for the sake of art. I mean, who really wants to be the owner and manager of some deranged import-export business? All the inserting and aborting, inserting and aborting; it sounds so tiring, not to mention messy. But obviously monthly visits from Aunt Flow aren't enough for a solid piece.

As shocking and appalling as it all is, one can only pray she did a reasonable job at cleaning up after herself. If not, then that would just be bad etiquette.

After learning about the exhibit, Yale University claims it to all to be a hoax, and that so-called blood documented actually came from a Heinz bottle, rather than Shvartz's vagina. Shvartz's still stands by her work, stating that the project, is in fact, the real deal, and that what you see, is what you hope to never get with your shrimp cocktail.

Either way, now Tub Girl's finally got a run for her money.

Source 1 Source 2

The one that got away:

Will Project's Sashay Make It Work?

Will Project's Sashay Make It Work?
by Chloe Dinnerrolly (April 12, 2008)

Auf Wiedersehen, Bravo! Later this year, Heidi Klum and gang are set to catwalk into the BenGay/Chanel No.5 smelling arms of Lifetime Television. It seems Project Runway is out to reach a larger demographic; one that includes senior citizens and single women who tend to overeat, snacking on Oreos while watching The Nanny.

A FIERCE competition among up-and-coming fashion designers, Project Runway is one of Bravo's highest rated shows. Along with a supermodel, it also happens to star the superstud, Tim Gunn. One can only guess the motivation behind the drastic move from its (soon-to-be former) network.

Was Heidi intimidated by Top Chef's Padma Lakshmi and tangled up in some post-supermodel rivalry? (Was Padma threatening to pack up her knives and go at it?) Or was it James Lipton, with his glued-on facial hair and stenciled glasses? Did the Inside the Actors’ Studio host pass on an ass-kissing interview with Santino Rice? I bet it was that lesbian, Jackie Warner from Workout, with her dumbbells and bronchitis-beaver voice. Oh, the hostility.

Be as it may, the show must go on, even if it feels like switching from satin to cotton panties.

Better known for its made-for-TV movies revolving around themes such as adultery, rape, domestic violence, and battered women, the Lifetime network may just give the reality series the juiciness its been lacking.

A designer creating an outfit out of human hair? How dull. Now, a designer creating an outfit out of human hair AND cheating on their lover with the host's dog groomer who just got out of jail for puppy pedophilia? Now THAT's hairy with high ratings guaranteed! Plus the cost of fleas.

If all is set to plan, Heidi's farewells should switch from air kisses to a slap across the face. "You are out! GET OUT!" While the judges will flip from fashion-smart Nina Garcia and Michael Kors to turkey-smart Valerie Bertinelli and Melissa Gilbert

Unfortunately, as Project Runway moves to a network familiar to most as "television for women", it brings a new sexist spin along with it. This is bound to draw a negative effect on the show's package-carrying viewers (who love 'em package-carrying contestants). For the past 4 seasons, 3 out of the 4 winners have been men. Deservingly so. Now it seems eliminations wail be 2 ovaries: in. 2 testicles: out.

It may be too soon to tell, but predictions for the future winning collection are said to look something like this:

The Butthole Surfers Will Stop at Nothing

The Butthole Surfers Will Stop at Nothing
By Chloe Dinnerrolly (Jan. 19, 2008)

Ah, the butthole; an often overlooked part of the human body. Its role plays such a great deal of importance, it's right up there with the heart, brain, and the big toe. If anyone were unlucky enough to ever encounter a serious butthole malfunction, things could get critical, and possibly even deadly.

Daily wipes ain't enough. People just aren't aware of how high maintenance the butthole actually is. It demands diamonds and pearls and trips to St. Topaz. Your asshole is a temple and it deserves to be kept in tip-top shape! You owe it to yourself and you owe it to It to get that thing checked out as often as possible.

But surely, there are roadblocks. The passageway is almost impossible to really get into on your own. You can ask it all you want, "Is everything going okay in there?" but the butthole is rather unresponsive -- verbally, at least. So how can you really make sure? Fortunately, there are doctors out there who are happy to lend you a hand.

Regrettably, such valuable information was never passed on to Brian Persaud, who is now suing a New York hospital after receiving a rectal exam he didn't ask for. On job as a construction worker, Persaud was rushed to the Emergency Room after being struck by a fallen beam. (Where was his hardhat?) He was given a couple of stitches and thorough medical procedure, a finger up the butt.

The poor man was completely oblivious to the favor that was taking place. He was getting a 2 for 1 deal! It's like coming home from a Burger King Drive-Thru and discovering an extra bag of fries with your order. So really, it's a steal!

You would think the blow to the head would've knocked some sense into the fellow, but such isn't the case. A serious hospital matter or not, Brian Persaud let it be known that his ass was completely off-limits! In desperate attempt to shield his butthole from invaders, things got violent and the patient ended up hitting one of the doctors. Eventually, he was sedated and given the examination without a fight.

But why go to such great lengths to avoid something that was inevitable? Why go as far as to physically assault someone who wears a white coat on a daily basis? You know those guys don't work out.

It is possible that he had missed his last ass wax/anal bleach appointment the week before, and was embarrassed by the stubble and discoloration. I mean, there were probably ladies present. What kind of first impression would that bring?

And of course, there is the fear of the official word getting out. Nothing worse than your construction worker buddies' constant heckling.

In the morning on site, someone making coffee asks, "So how do you take it?"
And before Brian gets a chance to answer "2 sugars, please”, a coworker chimes in, "Oh, he likes to take it up the butt."

And if that's the reason, then he brought all of it upon himself. Obviously, going to the Supreme Court with your rectal exam case isn't a smart way to keep people -and most of America- from finding out that yes, you are no stranger to having the door opened to your rear entrance. (But hey, who's to judge? Some people dig it, and others don't.)

By the way,
Would you like a chocolate covered pretzel?


Source
**Thanks to Nigel, the biggest Assman there is, for sharing this article for me.

Finding Your Husband in the Womb

Finding Your Husband in the Womb

by Chloe Dinnerrolly (Jan. 13, 2008)

The Brits are onto something rather brilliant, and it's not just Hugh Grant's film career. People everywhere spend so much time and money searching for that special someone to love, only to be left discouraged and lonesome. Where is Mr. Right? You need not look far.

As the English have found out, when it comes to finding a mate, there's an easier way -- an ancient way, almost. (It may not be something Jesus would do, but Noah would definitely encouraged it) For it has been discovered in London, twins separated at birth have gotten married, on “accident”.

There was something real about him, hmm? You always felt you both came from the same place. Well, now that proves to be true, literally.

Identities and further information on the twins are being withheld until the producers of All My Children (that's a pun,kids.) dish out enough money for the rights, but I think it's safe to say the new-found brother and sister are a fraternal pair. If not, not only would they have been overlooking the obvious, but they would also have to be the most self-involved couple on the planet. "You are beautiful!" "No, YOU are beautiful."

The story on how they came to be is probably something along the lines of, "I was looking across the room, to what I thought was my reflection in the mirror, but low and behold, it was my future husband."
Her spouse would add, "My initial attraction was that she was just like me, but with great breasts."

However, leave it to the British courts to hand the happy couple over with an annulment, as to say a marriage to a blood-relative is not legit. Their brother-sister bond is a bit of an extreme, but what is the big deal? It is love regardless, which means it's 2 Legit 2 Quit.

Now their marriage has become another statistic; a sacred union shattered over some shared DNA. But who knows, maybe they’ll be lucky enough to find their biological parents on Match.com.

If anything, the two can always move to Alabama, USA, where their relationship will be welcomed with open arms and six-pack of beer.

Source

The "Dr." is Before the "Phil" for a Reason, Y'all

There's a "Dr." Before the "Phil" for a Reason, Y'all
by Chloe Dinnerrolly (Jan. 6, 2008)

Dr. Phil likes to think his first name is really "Doctor". He has taken it upon himself to send out a national press release -to respectable news outlets like "Entertainment Tonight" and "The Insider"- to state the shocking: "Britney Spears is in dire need of both medical and psychological intervention."

TV's Dr. Phil, who's "been doing this for 30 years" as he says time and time again on his show, has obviously never heard of doctor-patient confidentiality. And even more surprising, has yet to turn on a TV or read a newspaper for as long as he's "been doing this".

It's not a victorious time for women; Hilary Clinton fell behind Barack Obama in the Iowa caucuses, Pakistan's Benazir Bhutto has been assassinated and Britney Spears has been hospitalized, ya'll! (In case you missed it, just tune into the next episode of COPS -- drug addict single mother holds her kids hostage during a police negotiation, ends up leaving in a stretcher...yada yada yada.)

For almost a couple of years now we've wondered, Does Britney Spears need real help? From the shot-gun marriages to the babies to the rehab stint to the weird robot-voice-alterations in her songs.

Britney's personal life, whether intentional or not, has always been on display. She leaves nothing to the imagination, either. The entire world has seen both the curtains and the carpet, or lack thereof. (Get it? She shaves both her head and cooch completely! Alright, dumb joke) But was it all just poor decision making?

Thankfully -and finally!- Dr. Phil has cleared the air. The saint even went as far as to visit Britney Spears at the hospital she was staying, only to walk out with his troubled "diagnosis", if you will. He claims a real concern over the girl, but I'm sure the real sorrow comes from security disallowing his camera crew to follow him inside. Could you imagine his ratings?

Dr. Phil's the kind of man that will call you an "ugly looking crack whore" on national television; tough love or self love? (You may not be a crack whore, Phil, but you sure are ugly) And is most likely in the works on his latest book, titled, "Dr. Phil: I Am the Voice of Reason"

But yes, although it may be hard to believe, Phillip Calvin McGraw is actually a clinical psychologist. Years ago, he earned his PhD from the University of North Texas. And universities in Texas just don't give diplomas away, do they? Lots of educated people come from the state, like... *crickets chirp*

I don't know what Dr. Phil is trying to do, but he ain't fooling me. Everybody in the entire WORLD knows the only opinion that matters is Oprah's. You down with O.Winfrey? Yeah you know me!

And Britney-
If you want drug-induced crazy attention, this is how it's done:

Learn something. (The goods dont start till 2:34)

How many times has Courtney had Frances Bean taken away from her? Woman is queen of rehab. Woman is queen, period.
(I miss Kurt Loder)


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Crowning Miss Psychopath 2008

Crowning Miss Psychopath 2008
by Chloe Dinnerrolly (Jan. 3, 2008)

Kumari Fulbright, a Miss Arizona hopeful, cannot bag herself a man, You'd think being a beauty queen -and beauty being the operative word- keeping men close would be as easy as the breadpudding she puked up the night before. But nope, someone switched to whole foods. Instead, she relies on herself, along with the help of 3 others, to hold her ex-beau captive for hours, having him tied down to a chair while being beaten and threatened with weapons.

Now, the former Miss Pima County faces charges from kidnapping to robbery to aggravated assault. And if there's any justice in the system, the so-called "victim" will be charged as being a whiney bitch. It wouldn't be surprising to find that he was already a member of the S&M community to begin with. Being tied-down is a common fetish as is. Who's to say he didn't enjoy it? (Who's to say I don't enjoy it?!) Stop crying and take it like a man! -- the safety word is, "Miss USA!"

The whole dispute was over some stolen jewelry or the other, but do we honestly care? Absolutely not. Why bother learning motives when there's this glamourous mugshot getting its face pasted all over the internets? Why, yes, Kumari, no wonder you've made your way in pagentry. It must be your striking resemblance to Sandra Bernhard after a hard night doing Jager shots at a dyke bar,

Girl needs a stylist. Judges take points off for that. Committing crimes or not, if you want that crown, you got to look good doing it. But here she is copying hairstyles from Britney Spears and making a face only a toilet would get excited about. But the real question is, why is she wearing a bedsheet as a top?

The future doesn't seem promising for Kumari. Her boyfriend wont talk to her, she's just been charged with a bunch of felonies, and she can't even afford a real shirt -- let alone, any evening wear.

However, if there's anything America loves, it's heart disease, and controversy involving beauty pagents. And if you win that crown and crave real fame; go out, get drunk, do a couple of lines, and makeout with the nearest hot chick - but you have to have somone taking pictures of it all, of course- and you will get your 15 minutes. Tara Conner, anyone?

All these girls hope to become the next Vanessa Williams, who was not only the first black MIss America, but the first to survive a nude photo scandal, only to later become a singer/actress/celebrity. Sometimes the snow comes down in June / Sometimes the sun goes around the moon -- but there will never be a next Vanessa Williams, just a bunch of Tonya Hardings. And that's what Kumari Fulbright is, another Tonya Harding without the ice skates.

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Zoey Signs Up for Pregnancy 101

Zoey Signs Up For Pregnancy 101
by Chloe Dinnerrolly (Dec. 18, 2007)

There is no better role model than an older sister, and when your big sis happens to be Britney Spears, you're bound for a bright and promisng future, right? Just ask 16-year-old PREGNANT Jamie-Lynn!

Teen-queen and star of Nickelodeon's Zoey 101 , Jamie Lynn Spears, has got a bun in her barely pre-heated oven. The little one is guilty of pulling a huge jealous-little-sister tantrum; "WHy should Britney get all the attention?! What does she have that I don't have?...Babies!"

Unlike Britney, who didn't start popping them out until she was 23 and married, Jamie-Lynn outdid her big sis by 7 years and got knocked up at 16 to some unknown who doesn't even backup dance. Mama must be proud and Maury Polvich, whose career has been made by exposing teenage baby mama drama, must be ecstatic, since his message is finally reaching America.

Do you KNOW how expensive birth control is? A box of condoms is like, 12 dollars! How do you expect celebrities to have that kind of money? ANd let's not get started on The Pill, not everyone is good with the must-take-everyday routine, especially when they have an ecsatcy habit to keep up with.

If Britney was any example at all to Jamie-Lynn, at least she waited till after The Mickey Mouse Club to whore it out. Jamie-Lynn is still with Nickelodeon. Call me a 90s kid, but I don't remember Clarissa ever getting pregnant. There was never an Clarissa Explains How Babies Are Made episode - even though Sam was practically begging for it, climbing through her bedroom window all the time.

Not even later, with Sabrina The Teenage Witch was there ever a pregnancy scare; although we may never truly know since she could've easily performed an instant-abort with her magical powers. ("You do not do / Goodbye to you!" *points to stomach* ZAP!)

Sadly, it's a new generation; keeping your clothes on is out-of-style. A couple of months ago, one of the stars from Disney's High School Musical, Vanessa Whatsherlastname?, had taken amateur naked photos of herself, only to be later leaked onto the internet. Most likely taken from a friend's digital camera, they weren't even good. The quality was horrible and the posing was eh!

(NOTE: If you're a young starlet anxious to get nude and show the world how much you've grown into a "respectable" woman; WAIT FOR HUGH HEFNER'S PHONECALL! Let the professionals at Playboy magazine take care of ya. There, they can provide hairstylists, makeup artists and photographers that know about good lighting and angles to make your girlie bits look stunning! Cute, yeah? If it ain't Hugh; do not do)

Slutty and/or pregnant teenage girls remind me of high school, they shouldn't remind me of Hollywood too. (Hollywood, CA not Hollywood, FL where ironically, my high school is actually located.)

The Tequila Has Gone Bad!

The Tequila Has Gone Bad

by Chloe Dinnerrolly (Nov. 22, 2007)

Am I the only person who thinks Tila Tequila looks like an old Vietnamese prostitute who's been working day and night for the past 25 years only to get locked out of house and left out in the sun for the past 10?

If I were to compare her to someone of substance, she'd be the long lost twin to the prunish old lady from There's Somethng About Mary (also known as the magnificent Magda!), which means Tila's tits actually look like THIS!

Male or female, straight or gay; no one would hit that. Skin cancer ain't sexy. How do people like Tila Tequila become famous in the first place? Oh yeah, MySpace. I'm just saying girlfriend, you need to wash your hair

. Shot of Metamucil with Magda

now THAT’S Must-See TV!

Cooooorpsie Crisp!

Anthony Merino Eats Corpsie Crisp for Breakfast
by Chloe Dinnerrolly (Oct. 31, 2007)

Keeping in the spirit of Halloween --

Meet Anthony. This 24-year-old young stud desribes himself as someone who is, "laidback, easy going, and pretty cool to hang out". He plays semi-professional football and is into weight training, which shows in his (horrible camera phone) pictures. With beefy arms and chiseled abs, Anthony has a body to die for. If only the chicks would get it!

Still, Anthony goes to school and majors in engineering while holding a tech job at a hospital, which is where he found his latest fling. Unfortunately on Sunday, the two not-so-young lovers were caught in the ultimate act -- at the hospital morgue.

Back on Anthony's MySpace profile, he admits to never having enough time to do what he wants to do. And obviously, having sex with a corpse was at the top of his list of priorities

Ultimately, Anthony's major downfall was mixing work with play. "I work hard, so I party hard--that's my motto", says the playboy. But doesn't Anthony know; you should never bring the party into the workplace. The two worlds are completely different and should be kept segregated at all times. (Unless sleeping with the boss promises a promotion, and so forth, but those tricks are mostly dominated by women. Sorry buddy)

However, Anthony's personal quote give us all hope as it states, "What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters to what lies within us." And what laid before you, Anthony, was a dead 92 year-old woman, and what laid within her, was YOU.


-To read the transcript of me and Jamie's theory of Aerosmith's involvement in this horrific act CLICK HERE.

Goodbye Vicki Lynn: Candle in the Whirlwind

Goodbye Vicki Lynn: Candle in the Whirlwind
by Chloe Dinnerrolly (Feb. 10, 2007)

As they say in real estate, it’s all about location, location, location! And who’s to say the same rule doesn’t apply when it comes to the death of a celebrity? The first time I visited New York City, I took a picture of the floor outside the Dakota Hotel. Why do I have a picture of a slab of concrete?! Of course, it’s the symbolism of it all. This is no ordinary cement, it might as well be a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. And if I were ever to travel to L.A., outside the Viper Room is where I’m heading.

The deaths of John Lennon and River Phoenix were not predetermined, at least, not to them. These superstars knew how to die - and didn’t even need to kill themselves!- because it’s all about where it happens. That’s not something us normal human beings have control over. It’s called destiny, star quality, if you will. That little something that stars are born with (and apparently die with also).

Now, the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino? In Hollywood, Florida? Have you ever seen such a place? The city is the poor man’s Jersey Shore. The beaches are 50% seaweed, 25% urine, 20% HIV, and 5% lost Cuban rafters (“¡mierda, este no es Miami!”) Anna, Anna, Anna Nicole, you should’ve known better. Just a couple of miles south and you could’ve made a name for yourself somewhere classy, like The Delano on South Beach.

Dying is probably the worst career move Anna Nicole Smith has ever made. But it’s not surprising, since she’s always had trouble making good ones. How’s a corpse pumped with TrimSpa, silicone and various other chemicals going to inherit a dead husband’s millions? Why die when all this money is at stake?

From a feminist point of view, she allowed male dominance to override. Now her stepson's family is going to get what was already his and that is not girl power. Girl power does not include death --unless you’re Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, etc. etc.. (Really though, that is HER money, back off Pierce Marshall!! Oh wait, he’s dead too.)

In the fame game, sometimes dying is an automatic win -- if you had the talent. Take Anne Frank or Kurt Cobain; these people are LEGENDS and wouldn’t be considered so if they hadn’t died when and/or how they did. But what did Anna do? As a pre-teen she didn’t write quasi-philosophical diaries while hiding out as a Jew during the Holocaust or as an adult, launch an entirely new genre of music. She was a stripper from Texas turned billionaire wife-widow/Playboy Playmate/Guess model/reality show queen/diet-pill spokesperson. The classic rags to riches story, or g-strings to goldmines , rather.

Anna Nicole Smith was the sexiest widow of the 90’s (sorry, Courtney). My God, she was beautiful. The glam squad did their best at bleaching out her trailer trash roots. She was the icon for big booby girls (the BBG’s) everywhere, whether real or paid for. She milked those tatas for all they were worth. I wish I could do that. I mean, I have a killer rack but never once used it to my advantage. I’d probably be married to a 70-something millionaire by now, living in Malibu, walking around the poolside topless all day with a gold-paper-bag over my head.

Yet the 90’s soon turned into the 2000’s and amongst the magazine covers and court dates, Anna Nicole became America’s Screw-up (again, sorry Courtney.) We even based an entire reality show about it! Do you think anyone really cared about her and Kanye West making beauuuuuuuuuutiful duets? We just loved to watch and laugh.

Americans need that special someone in the limelight to criticize; the more tragic their lives are, the better we feel. Plus it saves us money on anti-depressant medication and all those trips to the therapist’s office?, please, Americans are as lazy as they come. (Cue video of fat people walking on beach boardwalks shot from the shoulders down. “America and Obesity: the Epidemic Continues” More like, “Fatties and Fannypacks: What’s the Deal?”) Who needs Prozac when you can sit in front of your TV with a case of beer watching Tonya Harding’s E! True Hollywood Story?

Anna Nicole Smith was a real person with real emotions, chemically subsided or not. Not everyone shines light on her accomplishments. As a single mother at the age of 26, she married a man that was 89 years old! Now they were married, so some sort of sexual activity is implied - whether once or 1000 - but once is enough. If that doesn’t show strength and determination, I don’t know what could. I applaud her.

Everyone’s concern now is over her five-month old daughter, Danniellynn. As if growing up without a mother and older brother isn’t already travesty, one of her two possible-daddies shares the same name with the [former] king of all media. School is definitely going to be a drag.

“Isn’t your dad that guy that gives away boob jobs to chicks that agree to have bologna get thrown at their ass over the radio?”
“No, my dad’s an attorney. Howard K! Stern. The K is not silent, you halfwit.”

When it comes to celebrity status, Anna Nicole was far from the A-list. She was more B minus/C plus, and I’m grading on a curve. Being that she didn’t commit suicide or wasn’t murdered by an obsessed fan, her celebrity death matches her celebrity status; ehhh…

But there have been much worse in Hollywood’s past. The worst kind of celebrity is the kind that dies in a hospital of some dumb medical condition like heart disease or kidney failure. Famous people should leave those kinds of things for the average working man with the $20,000 income. So thanks Anna, for giving us something to die for, like colon cancer