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KAT VON D: This is really great.
JESSE JAMES: Yep, great.
KAT VON D: You look so good, baby.
JESSE JAMES: Good, baby.
KAT VON D: I can’t believe how much I love you.
JESSE JAMES: Um, you’re great.
Filed under: Bad Husbands, Discovery, Gross, Jesse James, Jesse James Cheats On Sandra Bullock, Kat Von D, Kat Von D In Love With Jesse James, LA Ink, Monster Garage, Moving On Quickly, Reality Stars, Reality TV, Sandra Bullock, Shameless, Shameless Couples, Shameless Photo Ops, Sleeves, Tattoos, That Was Fast
Oh, THERE you are Bobby Trendy!
I didn’t see you there.
Oh wait, let me restate that: I didn’t want to see you there.
I remember hearing about Rielle Hunter’s pregnancy through the drunken, gossipy grapevine of politicos on Super Tuesday of 2008. Pollsters and pundits were huddled down in drab enclaves at Manchester, NH drinking holes to avoid the bitter cold. Dennis Kucinich had just finished some pub beef something-or-other in the booth next to me. Right then, a fiery HuffPo blogger slid into the seat across from mine, and spilled: “John Edwards knocked some woman up. She’s having the baby and they have a cover-up story. No one in the press is saying anything because of Elizabeth’s cancer, but we all know.” He swooped back out.
There had been some tabloid speculation about Hunter before this, but few Americans knew or investigated. After hearing about the lovechild, I naturally watched with fascination as the saga eventually panned out. On February 27, Hunter had the baby. In July, the National Enquirer broke a story about Edwards visiting his new daughter at the Beverly Hilton (see above photo). After many public denials, Edwards finally admitted to paternity of Hunter’s child in August 2008. Since then, almost everyone involved has said their piece, and it only gets more interesting.
Very little, however, was said by Hunter while this was all going down, which is why Newsweek recently penned a story praising the “quiet dignity” of the mistress of a terminally ill woman’s politician husband.
GQ nabbed her first official words on the matter, a transcribed Q&A that weighs in at nearly 10,000 words (that’s what happens when you hold it in for so long!). Within the interview, she candidly addresses the flaws in others’ accounts, professes her love for Edwards, and talks timeline. In an effort to save you time reading, I’ve boiled her tale down to the important stuff:
1. Hunter calls Edwards “Johnny,” which is apparently the name on his birth certificate.
2. Hunter firmly believes that Mr. Pantsonfire never lies to her.
3. Elizabeth Edwards is scary as shit. She’ll chop your motherfucking dick off.
Filed under: Andrew Young, Bad ideas, Creepy Photos, Elizabeth Edwards, Eww, GQ, HuffPo, John Edwards, Lovechild, MILF? ICK!, Mistresses, Oy, People With No Shame, Politicians, Rielle Hunter, Scandal, Shameful Pictures, Shameless Photo Ops, Speaking Up, Super Tuesday, Terminal Illness
Duh, Tila. You’re supposed to lick carpet, not sand.
at Hollywood’s Chateau Marmont, March 28
TILA: Me too! Thanks for buying lunch.
MEGHAN: Well, you said you couldn’t find your wallet.
TILA: Oh! Um, yeah!
MEGHAN: Um, you’re welcome.
TILA: You have a lot of dough though, right? I mean your mom’s totally loaded.
MEGHAN: Well I don’t really like to talk about money.
TILA: Oh. Why?
MEGHAN: I’ve always heard it’s kinda tacky. Kinda like talking smack about your dad’s first family when they’re not around to defend themselves. Not like my mom does that or anything.
TILA: Hey, did you buy your boobs?
MEGHAN: Excuse me?
TILA: God, you must have bought really expensive ones. They’re so real, it completely looks like it’s all real fat in there.
MEGHAN: Er, yeah, my breasts are real.
TILA: Oh my gaw! Praise the lawd Jesus! I love ‘em! You’ve got awesome tits, girl.
MEGHAN: Thank you. Everybody loves my boobs.
TILA: I just want to stuff my face in them and then make out with your thighs for my vlog. And then take you home to meet my parents.
MEGHAN: I, uh, okay.
TILA: And gaw, I’m like, just so glad we hooked up on Twitter! Ha… you can actually say “I hooked up with Tila Tequila… on Twitter.”
MEGHAN: Yeah… I… could?
TILA: It’s just that when I found that you like, fully looked up to me, I just sooooo wanted to like, reach out, like to a little sis or an um, like, rabid fan, or whatever. I can’t believe you’re my rabid fan! I love that!
MEGHAN: Oh girl, I love you. But I don’t know if you could call me a “rabid fan,” per se. It’s not really like that. I just think it’s cool that you–
TILA: Make out with chicks.
MEGHAN: Well, not–
TILA: Have beautiful, big tits.
MEGHAN: I mean–
TILA: Hate the gooks.
MEGHAN: You–wait, what?
TILA: You wanna “If You Seek Amy!” Girrrrl!!!
MEGHAN: Um, Tila, I think I might just going through a rebellious stage. I hate my parents. My mom’s a robot.
TILA: Mine too!
MEGHAN: That’s awesome.
TILA: I know. So annnyways, when I realized we were going to lunch, I was like, we’re gonna dress all ladylike, right? So I’m gonna wear a little black dress and my classiest stilettos! And then I was all like, ohmigosh. Pearl necklace. I’ve gotta wear a pearl necklace!
MEGHAN: Are those… pearls?
TILA: Well, I mean, kinda! Anyway, pearl necklaces are like my favorite thing. If you know what I mean! [snorts]
MEGHAN: Yes, I think I do. Hey, not to get or technical or anything, but I think those balls on your necklace are more accurately meant to appear “pearl-like.”
TILA: [suddenly emotional] Girl, don’t hate.
TILA: Are you being a hater?
MEGHAN: I… I’m sorry, what?
TILA: I have suffered so much hardship in my life already. And when you’re on top [snorts], people just want to take you down. They wanna be haters! And I say, fuck the haters!
MEGHAN: Tila, I’m not… I’m not hating.
TILA: Fuck the haters! Don’t be a hater! Don’t breaka my stride, girl! Don’t hate!
MEGHAN: I just spent two-hundred bucks on lunch. Why would I hate?
TILA: Girl, don’t talk about money. That’s just tacky.
MEGHAN: I just told you that!
TILA: Bitch, please! [whips out Blackberry]
MEGHAN: What are you doing?
TILA: I’m tweeting this.
MEGHAN: Oh my fucking God. You’re like a goddamn Twitter addict!
TILA: Yeah, I twitter a lot, ho! Right now I’m saying that you’re a cunty, money-grubbing, hater bitch. Should show up on your phone in a second. Oh, and now I’m saying that you take the Lord’s name in vain.
MEGHAN: Oh my god, you’re a full-on psycho.
TILA: Right now I’m tweeting that you’re a full-on psycho.
MEGHAN: I hate you.
TILA: I didn’t vote for your dad.
MEGHAN: Who cares? Neither did I!
TILA: I’m tweeting that.
MEGHAN: AUGHHHHHHH! [exits]
Filed under: Addiction, Boobs, Celebrity Twitterers, Chateau Marmont, Circus Tits, Drive-Bis, Haterasian, John McCain, Lunch, Meghan McCain, Odd Couples, Rebellion, Shameless Photo Ops, Tila Tequila, Twitter
MILEY: Guys, I’m so glad you’re here tonight. It means so much to me. It’s times like these when you really need good friends around you who know your heart. I’m so glad I can count on y’all.
GUY IN THE TIE: Dude, what? You paid us $100 to be in the picture.
MILEY: Just remember–no goofy faces, okay?
GUY WITH THE GOATEE: Like what do you mean?
MILEY: I mean, keep your eyes open real wide. Don’t, like, squint or laugh too hard or look like you’re sleepy. Do your eyes like (pointing to the LADY IN THE STRIPEY DRESS)…like her.
LADY IN THE STRIPEY DRESS: What do you mean “do” your eyes like me? What am I doing with my eyes exactly?
MILEY: You’re making them really really big.
LADY IN THE STRIPEY DRESS: No I’m not.
MILEY: Are too.
LADY IN THE STRIPEY DRESS: I’m not “doing” anything to them. This is how my eyes look.
MILEY: Hunh. That’s weird. I thought all of you had small eyes. You must use really great eye makeup.
LADY IN THE STRIPEY DRESS: Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?
GUY WITH THE GOATEE: Hey, Miley, do you think you could kick in a gift bag on top of the $100 bucks you gave us to pose in this picture? I’d love to take one home to my wife.
MILEY: Uh, I don’t know. I mean, this gift bag’s mine, and it has my favorite aromatherapy scented candle in it. And they’re kinda only giving these to celebrities.
LADY IN THE STRIPEY DRESS: While you’re at it, could I get your autograph for my daughter? God knows why she still likes you after this latest flap, but she does. Idiot kid.
MILEY: Guys, what’s with all the requests all of a sudden? I thought we were friends!
GUY WITH THE GLASSES: Don’t forget that we’re doing you the favor here. If you want us to pose in a picture with you so people will stop saying you’re racist, the least you could do is pony up a coupla gift bags. And a few autographs. In fact, what you should really be doing is kissing our yellow asses in the hopes that you haven’t completely alienated the world’s biggest consumer demo.
MILEY: You guys are being so mean! I was so not making fun of any ethnicity! I don’t even know what that word means! I’m only 16, gimme a break! I don’t know right from wrong from stupid! I thought you knew my heart!
GUY IN THE TIE: Wow is this pointless. There’s no reasoning with fools, I guess. (sighing) Just take the picture.
Dear Fuck God,
First of all, let me thank you for all of my wonderful gifts. Thank you for my luscious weave, my bodacious fake tits, and my wonderful husband. Thank you for convincing my mother to give me the space that I need, mostly ‘cuz I feel she is a stupid and dumb, fat bitch anyway.
Next, I would like to say sorry for a couple of things. I am sorry that I voted for John McCain. I am sorry that I brought shame to the House of Chanel. I am sorry that I tried to bring shorts back into style.
Finally, I would like to ask for forgiveness. I would like to apologize for all of Spence’s and my staged photo-shoots, particularly the most recent one in which Spencer and I pretended to get martial arts training. Listen, I know they’re really annoying. I know we look ridiculous, but here’s the thing–I feel like we’ve basically signed our souls away to the Fuck Devil. Fuck God, at this point, unless I want to just bow out of life completely, I’ve got no choice but to keep up this douchery. So I’m sorry, so sorry, and wish that instead of pretending to fight in these last photos, Spence and I were actually, truly beating the shit out of each other, perhaps to the death, so that we could put each other out of our misery and make the world a happier, better place.
Anyway, gotta go. We’ve got a rezzie at the Ivy for “lunch.”
Filed under: Apologies, Chanel, Disappointing Your Parents, Douchebags, Fake Tits, Famous-For-Nothings, Heidi Montag, John McCain, Martial Arts, Prayer Hands, Shameless Photo Ops, Spencer Pratt, The Fuck God
Promotional photo for Kylie Minogue’s upcoming tour, to promote the new album X:
PUBLICIST: So that didn’t work, did it?
KYLIE: You mean my foray into the American market? No fucking way. I got so burned. What a pisser.
PUBLICIST: I really don’t understand it. People love hot legs. And you have such smokin’ gams.
KYLIE: I know, right? They’re almost as good as my ass. You’d think legs and an ass would be enough to sell more than 6,000 bloody albums in America. It worked for Jessica Simpson, and that bitch can’t even dance.
PUBLICIST: Or sing!
KYLIE: Or spell “sell.”
PUBLICIST: It can be a tough word.
PUBLICIST: Listen, let’s just focus on the album, and the tour. So I’m thinking… it’s called X. What can we do with that, conceptually, for the promo photo? Maybe we could do something in the vein of X-Men. You could wear an intense bodysuit and white wig and cape, and look like Storm! She’s hot!
KYLIE: Hmm. I’m not really sure I like that.
PUBLICIST: Or maybe you we could put you on one of those rotating wheels, spread out like an “X” while wearing a knife throwing assistant’s uniform! and there will be knives all around you and even one that you’re holding in your teeth. Amazing! That would be like visual sex.
KYLIE: It just doesn’t feel right to me. It just didn’t fit.
PUBLICIST: (annoyed) Okay, Ms. Kylie. Do you have any better ideas?
KYLIE: Hmm. Hmm. Hmm.
PUBLICIST: (chuckles) That’s what I thought!
KYLIE: I’ve got it!
PUBLICIST: You do?
KYLIE: GEISHA… meets Dynasty!
PUBLICIST: Uh… wha?
KYLIE: I want to wear more white makeup.
PUBLICIST: You did that in 1997, though, and uh…
KYLIE: Nobody will remember.
PUBLICIST: Um, yes they will. And I don’t think–
KYLIE: People will love it. Geishas are so fascinating! Everybody loves a Brit in geisha makeup! Call up the artist that does those Hoojacuckoo Gals with Gwennie.
PUBLICIST: Ms. Kylie, I don’t think geishas really have anything to do with X–
KYLIE: Yes they do.
KYLIE: They just do. Stop asking questions. Let’s get this show on the road. I’m so frantic that I’m tired.
PUBLICIST: You’re tired? Hunh. That’s funny, so are geishas.