Yeezus Christ!
Kanye West, the demented anti-Semite and raving woman hater, is set to add porn to his rabid roster.
Which of our formally unimpeachable societal pillars will next fall? Will Chick-fil-A open on Sunday?
For the man who once penned entire albums to the Almighty, who straddled genius and tragedy producing thoughtful art, is now so fallen into the chasm of depravity that there seems no way back.
This vagrant venture into the world of adult entertainment is already underway, reportedly a joint effort with the former Mr. Stormy Daniels, a jiggle-flick producer named Mike Moz.
It’s all dirty double standards because West has vacillated in the past on the sins of online smut: once blaming the collapse of his marriage and family on a supposed addiction to the filth.
Yeezus Christ! Kanye West, the demented anti-Semite and raving woman hater, is set to add porn to his rabid roster.
The queasy question on the lips of those who give a guff: Will Captive Censori make a freakish screen feature?
But it’ll take more than a little horny hypocrisy to stun his few remaining and entirely unshockable fans into apoplexy.
It’s hard to imagine what West will bring to the world’s oldest form of entertainment. Turns out it’s a pretty saturated market and people tend to get it for free. But maybe he’ll melt down the last remaining Adidas sneakers from that imploded brand collab and repurpose them into Bianca Barbies or other awful porny paraphernalia.
Which of course brings us to the queasy question on the lips of those who give a guff: Will Captive Censori make a freakish screen feature?
It would hardly be surprising.
After years of controlling and shaming his ex-wife Kim Kardashian, mortifying lovers from Amber Rose to Julia Fox — who he urinated in front of at their first meeting — West’s abuse of the fairer sex is well practiced.
Perhaps parading his latest hostage-in-hosiery Bianca through bawdy Venetian boat rides and pantyless in Paris has become tiresome. Perhaps these XXX-capades aren’t scratching the itch.
We’ve already seen more of this poor woman than most men see of the bride on their wedding night, so it’s hard to imagine this dirty duo will leave anything to the imagination.
West is one of the few public figures who considers himself uncancelable. But after so many mad turns and so much cultural whiplash, the real feat will be getting people to still care.
When you’ve made a career out of shocking people into paying attention, at some point the shock waves wear off.
Chances are the crazed congregants in the Church of Kanye have their own sordid outlets, more extreme than even Wild West can muster. And this deeply ill monster misogynist will be forced to seek comfort in even darker demons.
Fishy Kimmel
President Trump is playing more than the victim in that New York City courtroom. Apparently, he’s also playing the butt trumpet.
According to anonymous courtroom ‘sources’ speaking to the never-heard-of ‘MeidasTouch Network’, No.45 almost did a No.2 in his pantaloons this week.
Caustic Jimmy Kimmel couldn’t contain his own gas, mercilessly mocking the former prez for these baseless rumors. ‘Just when you think the insano-meter has topped out, Donald Trump adds farting to his list of atrocities,’ he said Tuesday.
Kimmel once told me he and comedian Adam Carolla would take road trips to Vegas and each purposefully eat things like raw onions and canned clams to make their own in-car exhaust fumes extra stinky.
Taylor’s out of style
Swifties are seething over the largely negative reviews of TayTay’s latest vanity project: The Tortured Poets Department.
The album has some shining moments (Fortnight, featuring Post Malone, is a particular fave) and is basket-brimming with juicy ‘Easter eggs’ about Swift’s ‘functioning alcoholism’. But, really it’s just a self-indulgent rehash of the same sloppy tunes and themes that should have stayed in her MacBook’s trash.
The unnecessary ‘look at me!’ release even riled kindly critics at the New York Times (‘an all-time low’) and Pitchfork (‘unruly, unedited’).
Taylor slapped back retweeting the few good reviews she’d garnered. No amount of thick red lipstick will mask that thin skin.
Swifties are seething over the largely negative reviews of TayTay’s latest vanity project: The Tortured Poets Department.
…but Celine’s in Vogue
Returning in a halo of glory and grace: Celine Dion.
In a candid interview for Vogue France, Celine shines in topless high-fashion, all while discussing the realities of her tragic ‘stiff person syndrome’ diagnosis and treatment.
She admits the cruelty of the degenerative condition sent her into a tailspin of ‘why me?’ questions, but says she has since come to realize that ‘life doesn’t give you any answers, you just have to live it.’
For some famous femmes, living life means documenting every adolescent twist and kiss of their overly public breakups. For others, it’s all about retreating into solitude when privacy is paramount, then re-emerging with a stunning message of hope. What an inspiration Celine is.
Nancy cracks the whip
Nimble Nancy Pelosi has a new memoir.
The 84-year-old’s page-turner promises to be more gripping than her icy ego-grasp on the reigns of US politics.
It’s called ‘The Art of Power’ and the cover image shows the dainty dominatrix stood in a DC doorway lording it over the phallic Washington Monument as though ready to crush any male protuberance that might slow her continued ascent.
I imagine chapter titles will include:
MY FLING WITH GENERAL WASHINGTON
JANUARY 666TH: WORSE THAN PEARL HARBOR
BEAUTY TIPS FOR GOLDEN GIRLS: YOU’RE ONLY AS YOUNG AS THE BABIES YOU EAT
Smiling sicko
Apparently, he chubbed up behind bars without much access to his usual sporting regime (boo-hoo).
In the outside world he’s banned from booze or owning guns (boo-hoo-hoo) and is now looking more svelte.
He spends most of his time playing video games and sitting on his guilty keister at his uncle’s $2.5 million mansion. He’s also done some measly volunteer work at a local church where fellow parishioners say he’s cold and weird, which is so odd because murderous, angry nutjobs are usually so fun and bubbly.
Girlfriend-killer Oscar Pistorius was out flashing a smile in the South African sunshine, enjoying his freedom after just 7 years in the pokey.
Nepo-royals!
William, Kate and Camilla have all managed to snag themselves some snazzy royal honors.
William is now a Great Master of the Order of the Bath (a very wordy reward for ‘exemplary service in military or civilian life’ or something about soap and shampoo).
Kate becomes Companion of Honor (which is a swanky way of saying she’s now Willy’s legitimate plus one).
And Camilla takes top bill, becoming the head of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire.
Seriously, how’d they all swing these nifty titles and accolades? Do they know a guy?
