Either someone dug up an old mugshot of John Mayer busted for speeding (NO!!! SPEEDING?!?) or one of the Growing Up Gotti boys is trying to seduce the shit out of me. Oh no, it’s totally working. I never knew how attracted I was to sunspots before. His forehead is so splotchy this could be an ad for sunscreen. But like the Coppertone Sport manly kind.
Is it just me or do you feel like Mayer’s going to ask you out for a cup of coffee and arrange a threesome with the barista? This photo’s got a real Wanna-Hear-The-Poem-I-Wrote-And-Finger-Each-Other-After-It vibe. Again, I’m into it. And yes, I do want to hear your poem. I’ll give you my interpretation of it after we do facial peels.
Kourtney Kardashian forgot to take her birth control and got pregnant. That’s not a premise for an upcoming episode of her reality show; that’s her life. You know Khloe is so excited she might not be "the fat one" next season.
Which producer on Keeping Up With the Kuntashians suggested this storyline? Sure, I’ll tune in for Kourtney's mood swings and cravings for pickles and ice cream attention, but you can’t write a baby off a reality show! She better have some Mary-Kate/Ashley talent crawl out of her Virginia Slim if she doesn't want late night re-shoots compliments of her dumb kid screwing up his lines.
This time cry like you’re not really a millionaire. C'mon, just think about that time your mom's nude photo almost leaked before her Maxim spread came out. That's sad, right?
The biggest problem I have with this story is that Kourtney admits that her fetus is an accident – like it’s no big deal she forgot to take her pill. Like she forgot to set her DVR. (Except she probably never forgets to do that.) If you can’t remember to take a pill once a day to prevent another living human from feasting on your insides, you’re going to be one hell of a responsible mother.
Kourtney finally released the identity of the father.
Drum roll, please....
It’s Shorty! The homeless guy the sisters took care of until he didn’t go with their outfits anymore. Congrats to the new couple.
I got my car back today. The civic was in the body shop (not that kind of body shop) after getting blasted from behind (yes, that kind of blasted) by a woman with 13 consonants in her name. In a row. I could probably find her name scribbled on a super important piece of scratch paper that I threw somewhere, but right now I can only remember there are 3 x’s in it and you wouldn’t believe me if I posted it anyway. Yes, she was Asian and yes, I do have enough pride not to make a joke about her driving.
But seriously, women drivers! C’mon, ladies. If you’re not going to watch the road, get back in the kitchen and make some meatloaf. Or in this case, orange chicken. Whatever you’re good at, really. Just don’t try to get fancy with risotto and F it up is all I’m sayin’. That was a disgrace to Italy, Jeffrey! (It's a Next Food Star thing, you wouldn't understand.)
I should mention that I took back the busted car Enterprise rented me last week to tell my favorite employee that the check engine light, check tire pressure alarm, service airbag alarm, and some light that I think was trying to warn me that I could be struck by a lightning bolt at any given moment – well, all of those were on and making dinging noises. When I told the Enterprise sales guy all he said was, “Don’t worry, you won’t be charged for that,” in between bites of his five-dollar foot long. He could not replace my rental for a more functional one, as Enterprise didn’t have any cars. He mumbled something about a car draught and I left.
I finally returned my excuse for a car to Enterprise this morning, so it was a joy to see all the old friends I’d made last week down at the office. They charged everything to Orange Chicken’s insurance company, which was nice, but I was taken aback when the associate asked me to rate my experience with them.
“Were you completely satisfied?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” I said, because I'm a pussy.
“You’re going to get a call asking you to rate our service, and we only pass if you say you were completely satisfied.”
Pass what? Is this some kind of test Enterprise office that I could shut down if I complain? I doubt it. I’m willing to bet the douchebag who calls me later for my service rating works for Enterprise, so by default he will suck too. I’d imagine it will go something like this…
“Oh, you were unsatisfied? That’s cool. So let me get this straight – the car it took you four hours to rent had mud on the seats and a flat tire? Bummer. Next time try Avis. So, seriously, from 1-5 how would you rate your Enterprise experience?”
“I’d probably give it a 3, I guess.” (Remember, I'm a pussy so giving them a 3 is really giving it to 'em good.)
On my way out the door, a sales associate was arguing with (can you believe it?) another unsatisfied customer over the phone. “Ma’am, you probably don’t need to sue Enterprise for this, but you’re more than welcome to try,” she said rolling her empty eyes at a coworker. I laughed out loud as I left the establishment, vowing to never return again.
Thank you, Dlisted. Now I don’t have to search high and low for a Halloween costume this year. I can be Kate Gosselin! Make that, The Slutty Kate Gosselin. If I combine this wig with the right boots and hosiery, someone in an Ed Hardy t-shirt might want to have sex with me.
I didn’t think it was possible to have a less attractive costume than HO-sama, but I’m willing to give it a shot.
My favorite part of this domepiece is the slashed price. Down to $14.99 already? Dayum. Sure, it's more than Kate pays her slave children to cut her real hair, but it’s a steal when you’re wig shopping.
What a white trash name for a wig. The Eight Is Too Much Adult Wig? No, wig namers, your grammar is too much. The grammatically correct wig title would be Eight Is Too Many, since "children" is a countable noun. For example, I took too many fertility pills. Or, A&E will probably sue this wig company for too much money and win.