We’re at the end of our second week here on the blog and things are going much better. Our traffic increased by more than 75% compared to last week, and the stories just keep getting bigger, better, and juicier. This week’s highlights:
We may or may not blog this weekend (more likely the latter), but be sure to stick around for the weekend wrapup on Monday. Make sure to tell your friends to read the blog and if you haven’t yet, subscribe to our RSS feed. Keep sending in those tips and comment, comment, comment!
Hey shorty, its your worst day. There’s no party, cause its your worst day. Don’t bring Bacardi, it’s you worst day. And lemme tell you it’s yo’ mothafuckin’ worst day!
Ahem.
In all seriousness, it was a pretty terrible day for 50 Cent (remember him? He was, like, the most popular rapper at one time). E! reported today that the once-mega-famous rapper was slapped with a restraining order from his baby’s mama (otherwise known as “the usual” on Judge Hatchett). Ex-lover Shaniqua (srsly?) Tompkins said she felt compelled to file the order after a fire destroyed her Long Island estate, believing that 50 Cent was behind it. Other details in the order include that on days that 50’s son comes to visit him, all pickups must be done curbside from his mother’s house, and that 50 must disown all of his firearms (FAT CHANCE!). And where was 50 Cent to defend himself? In the gangsta nation of Canada, duh.
Nevertheless, 50 of course retaliated (duh), and filed a $20 million defamation suit against Tompkins. Because honestly, how else is this sorry ass has-been gonna make money? His last album did poorly regards to his former sales, and if he ain’t gettin’ no lovin’, he sure as hell needs enough dough to buy some. Like he’s always said: Get Rich, or Die Tryin’.
Last Friday’s post about Guidettes got a very positive response from our viewers, so we’ll try this out as a little mini-feature. I highly suggest clicking the “Guidettes” link if you don’t know what I’m talking about, but if you live in Long Island, Westchester, New Jersey, or Bensonhurst, you’ve definitely seen them, and no doubt they’ll be descending upon the NYC club scene tonight with their equally slimy male counterparts. Anyway, here’s your Guidette picture of the week:
*Fake IDs, dimebags, and steroid-abusing boyfriends not included.
All eyes have been squarely focused on Illinois senator Barack Obama since capturing the Democratic nomination earlier this year, but there’s also been a close look at some of the loony people he’s been associated with. Well, for those keeping track, please add director and Knicks season ticketholder Spike Lee to that list.
According to Reuters, a Japanese electronics company will soon be launching what is being marketed as a “personal karaoke machine”. Named “Hi-Kara”, this one pound 7″ cube will function “like a real machine” and allow users to download songs via the internet or buy special cartridges for them. The product is being marketed towards the Japanese youth particularly because:
“Girls who are middle-school age and under can’t go to karaoke parlors by themselves even if they wanted to sing, but now they can try it at home with this new karaoke machine.”
So thanks to them, you’ll have hundreds of off-key Kelly Clarkson wannabes belting out J-Pop and teeny-bopper hits all day long. Fan-tastic.
And while it seems that karaoke and singing is all the rage these days, it probably won’t be as ever popular as this.
Earlier this week, actress, comedienne, and plastic surgery enthusiast Joan Rivers was on England’s version of The View (called Loose Women…teehee) to promote her one-woman show debuting in London. According to Defamer, the conversation steered towards other famous celebrities, and eventually, Russell Crowe. Rivers, poised and ready for comment, looked directly at the camera and called Mr. Crowe “a fucking shit”.
Now we young folk wouldn’t be too surprised about such potty language, but unsurprisingly, the women on the show were shocked. Apparently Rivers didn’t realize that the show was absolutely live and the comment immediately sparked waves of complains to the station, including one from a woman in Leeds who was:
“Gob-smacked when that gormless woofter Rivers whinged with ‘er grotty loo-mouth on me telly.”
BLIMEY!
Rivers was then kicked right off the set of the show and didn’t even get her goody bag for appearing as a guest. Said Rivers:
“I have won an Emmy, been nominated for a Tony award, done every show and become an icon and when people ask me what is left in my career I have always said I don’t know, but I have never been forcibly thrown out of a TV studio. It is another milestone.”
Well good for you! But you did forget one thing. This isn’t the first time you’ve been thrown out for being a bitch.
The all too shocking clip below:
Oh wait…this just in, WNBC News Anchor Sue Simmons has a response:
The BBC reported today that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (better known as the people that bring you The Oscars) has instituted new rules concerning nominations for Best Song. Starting next year, there will be a limit on two songs per film for the category, which sucks for big musical movies like Dreamgirls or Enchanted, which got 3 noms each in their years of eligibility. What rule would we like to see? Something that prevents an otherwise mediocre song (save for the fact that it pushes a political agenda) from beating three much better songs.
Everyone knows that when you fly on a plane, the number one rule is that you’re not allowed to smoke. They have signs posted everywhere: above your seat, in the lavatory, in the safety pamphlet, etc.. But apparently, a passenger on JetBlue couldn’t wait to have her nicotine fix. And she wasn’t gonna let some pansy flight attendant tell her to put her smokes away.
After The Jump: The harrowing booze-fueled details.
Tinsley Mortimer (who?), a blond vapid New York socialite and celebutard, recently shot a reality show for MTV. According to Gawker and The New York Post, the footage captured by MTV’s crews was “unusable”, as most of it centered around Tinsley just looking good, but without any of the substance or drama that makes for good reality television. As Gawker puts it, “She didn’t get into any brawls, do enough drugs, say anything racist or have a sufficiently interesting sex life.” Furthermore, an insider for the show reports that:
“She looked good but she just got dressed and went to parties every day and didn’t have anything interesting to say. It was incredibly boring. The project is dead.”
Thank god that someone is drawing the line with airing terrible and nonsensical reality shows. In this schlock-filled summer, the last thing we need is a Paris Hilton wannabe prancing around the Meatpacking District complaining about clubs and drinks. And if the network executives were really smart they would axe this show immediately as well.
