Advertising Age named Diddy’s vodka, Ciroc, as one of America’s hottest brands.
“This is a huge honor for us to be included in this illustrious list,” Diddy told Us Weekly.
He should feel so esteemed to be among genius brands as Silly Bandz, Miami Heat, WWE and McDonald’s “McCafe.” Aim high, sweet tush.
Since Lindsay Lohan is in rehab, the director of “Inferno” — the Linda Lovelace porn biopic she’s slated to star in — said he has a backup in mind in case that trampled bar mat can’t make the commitment.
“Actually, we have had a great response from other people who really want the part, too,” said Matthew Wilder. “But we will wait until Lindsay has fulfilled all of her rehab and court obligations to see if she will be able to take her place as we had originally planned.”
Oh, decisions.
I had a decision to make today. Do I buy cigarettes or a bag of lettuce for sustenance this week?
Wilder’s turn: Does he bolt (akin to a roided-up Madonna when she hears “frat party”) because he has an easy out? Or does he withdraw all of his money, shred it and stuff a dead moose with it?
We say abort mission. You’ve got liberation, my friend.
Portia! No!
Dammit.
Hollywood Headaches heard a rumor that her favorite underrated actress, Portia De Rossi (DeGeneres), may join “Dancing With the Stars.”
I will stagger my pallid ass down to the De Rossi-DeGeneres household, grab you by the flowing blonde locks and wound you with words. (P.S. What shampoo do you use? Call me.)
Her clever stints on Fox’s “Ally McBeal” and ABC’s short-lived “Better Off Ted” will now grant me a digression to commemorate brilliance.
(Warning: Tangent ahead.)
I am still in despair from “Arrested Development” (2003-2006) breaking up with me after three brilliant seasons. Such a whore.
Portia’s sheer genius as Lindsay Bluth Funke made substance abuse haute. (Literally. It’s French for “high.”)
I oft host tea parties in my living room with plastic army men dubbed Michael, Lindsay, Gob, George-Michael, Maeby, Buster, Tobias, George Sr. and Lucille.
We casually discuss a potential reunion show that will endure until my liver gives way. Those mini green plastic army Bluths soothe me calm with visions of Segways and frozen bananas fox-trotting in my head.
Until then, I satiate my shakes by delighting in the 2012-slated “Arrested Development” film.
Go Netflix the series. You’ll shove your tongue in my mouth in gratitude.
There’s a point here.
Poor Portia’s snark is constantly deprived from her all-too fleeting roles.
Mrs. DeGeneres, reality-show suicide is only allotted one single serving per household. Your wife already used it up with an “American Idol” gig.
Elton John said he’s not a fan of talent shows and that “X Factor” is “boring and ass-paralysingly brain crippling.”
Well, well, well. Look who had a change of heart.
All that producer Simon Cowell needed was to dangle some greens from an oversized pair of Alain Mikli eyeglasses. Now, where does Elton sign?
Next Saturday’s show will feature contestants performing the singer’s biggest hits.
Sell out?
Ah, hell. Money can buy anything.
Oh, shut up, optimist. I’m right.
Courtney Love made quite the spectacle at a Haitian school fundraiser.
Um. Whoever invited Love to this shindig needs to burn this analogy in their head: Love at a fundraiser parallels Bill Maher at church. His flesh would explode like Love’s pulse on blow.
She began with a bidding war against Gerard Butler for a tea date with Adrien Brody. She won.
Now Adrien, don’t get your testes in a twist (although it’s clearly defensible). You’re probably off the hook. She forgot where she was that night.
Then, the rocker won a bid for a walk-on part in filmmaker Paul Haggis’ next project.
Funny, I just saw the script swiftly face-plant into a vat of sulfuric acid.
Another tragic – albeit warranted — screenplay suicide.
Next, after stumbling around from table to table, she reportedly rummaged through the performing female bands’ purses in the dressing room, in search of makeup.
Ladies, toss that polluted shit.
What? Of course you already did. For hygienic reasons. You make me proud.
Joey Chestnut shoved 43 balls in his mouth.
(Catch up, Paris, you look like an amateur.)
Chestnut is a competitive eater and the balls – well, they were meat. In 10 minutes the man scarfed 43 big meatballs down in a Vegas competition. That’s disgusting.
On the plus side, the eater won $1,500.
At least that will cover a portion of the co-pay for when his cholesorol-filled arteries pump out a little coronary heart disease.
Or it should at least cover some Prilosec.
Quit your bitching.
So, princess, mom forced you into the pageant circuit growing up?
Acting 25 years old at a flat-chested 6? Oh, shove a pacifier in it.
At least your talent will skyrocket to the Chili Cookoff Queen, with a possible stab at the local VFW Miss August.
As for homecoming queen?
Negative.
Sure, it’s all candy and nuts as reigning broad of high school until your ego gets maimed by that damn Hollywood star who decides to have a “high school experience.”
Lame.
Actress Dakota Fanning, a cheerleader and student at Campbell Hall in Hollywood, was crowned homecoming queen Saturday night.
Meanwhile, the remaining female high schoolers faux beamed with a veiled fury of inferno, which won’t subside until that bitch graduates.
Then they can finally pull their self-esteem out of their underwear drawer and rest assured their boyfriends are no longer eye-screwing Dakota. (Well, at least in the flesh.)
Newly reunited dolts, Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt, told Life & Style magazine that they not only blew through $10 million, but they are considering filing for bankruptcy and are living in Spencer’s parents guesthouse.
“We don’t want sympathy,” said Spencer. “We did this to ourselves and feel like idiots. But we’ve grownup and are definitely not as naive anymore.”
Oh, no worries on the sympathy, sweets.
They need to just do the adult thing and return Heidi’s boobs to Walmart. The store isn’t at all particular on what comes back.
However, Walmart may only be able to turn them into children’s bouncy balls. I mean, that would be a good $10.
Or perhaps they could mold them into a silicone aquarium sealant. Maybe get a couple extra bucks?
Just trying to help here.
Oprah Winfrey and her lover, er, um, best friend Gayle King went camping together for some bullshit national park thing for Oprah’s show. Yeah. I said it.
Anyway, as they both headed into a camper, they wanted to set the record straight.
“Let’s just add to that lesbian rumor,” Gayle said. “Come on in, baby!”
Then Oprah yelled, “Lesbian ruuuuumors!”
The pair went inside the candle-lit camper and poor Oprah’s tongue accidentally slipped into Gayle. At least nobody got hurt in the accident.
Patti Stanger, the “Millionaire Matchmaker,” has said on her show that her millionaires prefer straight hair.
Well, guess what Stanger?
When my curls see you at the bar tonight, you’re in for some tight breaths.These bitches are long, strong and weigh more than that satellite of a forehead.
