The peacock network announced that Jay Leno took a $15 million pay cut to save Tonight Show jobs. Is that an unusually tall ginger I see see nearly killing himself with laughter behind the curtain?
I guess the economy has even affected the jokes that come in a can.
Sad times, darlings, sad times.
I would like to start a petition where Leno has to pay the viewers every time he awkwardly oggles the pretty actresses.
Peaches Geldof. Peaches Honeyblossom Geldof to be specific. How could anyone end up being a trainwreck with that name? The mind boggles.
Goodness, Bob and Paula - give the kids a fighting chance (her sisters are Fifi Trixibelle and Pixie.)
So Peaches made headlines (in a way that only the wacked-out offspring of previously-relevant people can make. Her son, Astala fell out of his pram while Peaches was pushing him and yacking on the phone with her step-sister, Heavenly Hiraani Tiger Lily Hutchence Geldof. Can you imagine?
There are at least four things wrong with that sentence: Peaches made headlines, Astala is the kids name and it's a boy.
The current princess of pop Rihanna lost her granny a few months ago. So she did what every grieving granddaughter does, she got a massive tattoo under her breasts of the Egyptian goddess Isis.
The wings spread out towards her sides with Isis' head firmly and forever tucked into her dcolletage. Nothing says I will love you always like a tattoo that in a few decades will look like a mangy, molting pigeon.
John Travolta and his beard -- I mean wife Kelly Preston -- are in Paris celebrating the anniversary of her hagdom (that's French for wife). I think the media reports are starting to affect Johnny's sense of style. He was spotted wearing a baby T that hugs his curves, and as if that mental image wasn't atrocious enough, he decided to go for a butched up fashion statement with a wallet chain. Everyone needs some bling when in Paris.
Did he Google, "How to look straight and convince your wife you yearn for her" when picking out this outfit? You're 50-something, John. Give it up. Gay Paris, indeed.
Blake Lively married Ryan Reynolds last weekend. Don't know her? It doesn't matter. She's on Gossip Girl, she has long blonde hair and her breasts are far too apart to be normal, like a halibut's eyes, too far apart and able to see the the ocean floor and sky at the same time. It's wrong. But mazel tov anyway.
Just when you thought it couldn't get any smarmier (it's a word, because I just used it), Chris Brown has been to the tattoo parlour.
Between him and Rihanna it's like a tattoo-off.
It appears that Ike the guy with the ink gun is a really bad drawer. Subway is always hiring and you'd still be able to call yourself a [sandwich] artist.
Brown has died his hair blonde, which looks totally natural as you can imagine, and now a tattoo of what looks like a woman's beaten face on his neck. You have to be serious to get a neck tattoo. I hope his career doesn't tank, because that job offer at Chipotle Chicken is all but over.
Frazier Crane needs to shut up. He obviously is under the impression that people care about his life, when it reality that all ended when Diane picked Sam. In promoting his show Boss, he slipped into the conversation that he and his ex-wife Camille hadn't had sex in a decade, which is why he dumped her and married that British flight attendant. Can you blame her for not wanting to sleep with that pompous ogre?
Someone needs to tell Winona Ryder that Girl, Interrupted has finished filming. She looks terrified or perhaps possessed by something in every picture at TIFF. Someone get her a cup of warm milk and a clue.
In dirty, greasy news, Kristen Stewart, the founder of the dead-face acting guild has stated that her and Robert Pattison will be fine. Phew. Now I can sleep knowing that Bella and her glitter-pony boyfriend will be able to smooth things over.
Carly Rae Jepson, the little girl who wrote the epic hit, Call me, Maybe, that features the deep lyrics of, "Before you came into my life/ I missed you so bad/ I missed you so so bad", has now done a cover of the Queen of Canadian folk, Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now. Pack your lip gloss girls and get underground, the end is nigh.
Until next time, lovelies..