“Sarah, you need to calm yourself down, Love-Biscuit. We both know that it’s impossible to extinguish the burning brush of young love. If Levi and Bristol are determined to make a go of their relationship, no amount of campaigning to the contrary will make a difference,” I said to Sarah Palin on speaker phone while I cracked eggs into my cake batter.
I was baking a cake for Lindsay Lohan. She really loves my Red Velvet Surprise – the surprise being a delicious center filling of Ghiradelli’s chocolate and Adderall. She requested it to sooth her nerves on the eve of her 90-day jail term that began today. She’s like a daughter to me, that one. So I was more than happy to appeal to her sweet tooth during these dark times. And by sweet tooth, of course I mean drug habit.
Poor dear Sarah was riled up after hearing the news that her daughter had reconnected with her baby daddy – and the two were planning to marry. They are also shopping around for a reality series to document their newlywed antics. It isn’t as though either one of them are qualified for much else these days – and the bills must be paid if they ever hope to build a college fund for little baby Tripp. And by college fund, of course I mean rehab.
“I really think you’re underestimating the power of their bond,” I continued, mixing in sifted cocoa, “Show me one reality show couple who hasn’t represented all that is good and pure about love and marriage. Ozzie and Sharon Osbourne. Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson. Vienna Girardi and Jake Pavelka. All shining examples of true love that serve as beacons to us all for what everlasting romance should look like over 18 episodes.”
At that point, Sarah put me on hold so she could shoot the beaver she’d been hunting in the woods all morning. I used it as an opportunity to click back to my phone sex date with Mel Gibson. When I clicked over, he was still screaming.
“Uh huh, yeah baby,” I breathed in monotone, “Yes, of course you deserve to be blown. Yes. Yes. I am a gold-digging whore. Yes. Hey honey, can you hang on a sec – I need to reattach my nipple clamps…they’ve come loose. Oh I’m such a bad boy!”
Our phone sex trysts have been getting rather intense of late. There is just something INSANE about his delivery these days that makes going to confession at the Catholic church more graphically descriptive – and my priest seems to really enjoy that.
I clicked back over to Sarah only to hear her giggling with loud gunshots in the background. My baking assistant, Betty White decided to help by adding two cups of rum to the cake batter.
“For the last time, Betty – this is NOT a rum cake!” I snapped, slapping her hand with my mixing spoon. “You never mix uppers with downers! That is the first thing they teach you in culinary pharmacy school! This cake has to be perfect for my baby-girl Lilo. Now hand me a pack of those Marlboro Reds. I’ll bake those in too so my little pumpkin has something to exchange for pills and lesbian sex.”
Over martinis and a joint, Betty and I spent the remainder of the afternoon icing the cake with my special cream cheese hydracodone frosting. Betty is really quite good at cake decorating, if you didn’t know. It’s fascinating to watch as she forms perfect borders of ribbons and pills – finishing it off with an even sprinkling of powdered sugar. At least I think it’s powdered sugar.
Unfortunately, the joint gave us both the munchies by the early evening – and we ended up eating the cake meant for dear Lilo. It’s just as well. It’s a smoke free jail anyway.
Love ya like prescription strength cake,
Link to Bristol/Levi Story: http://tvwatch.people.com/2010/07/20/bristol-palin-levi-johnston-reality-show-deal/
Link to Lindsay Lohan Jail Story: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/07/20/lindsay-lohan-surrenders-_n_652638.html
Link to Mel Gibson scandal: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/07/20/mel-gibsons-alleged-tripl_n_652352.html
John Mayer has no verbal filter. That’s what I adore about him. I always know where I stand with him because he just says whatever comes into his mind at that moment – not giving a second thought to how off color it might be. He’s like a 3 year old with a really big vocabulary and a microphone. It’s refreshing, really.
I wasn’t surprised in the least to learn his diarrhea of the mouth was a blaze in the March issue of Playboy magazine – where he dishes on everything from bad haircuts to crazy monkey sex with Jessica Simpson.
He dubs 29-year-old Simpson (whom he dated from 2006 to 2007) “a drug.”
“And drugs aren’t good for you if you do lots of them,” he says, adding, “Yeah, that girl is like crack cocaine to me. Sexually it was crazy. That’s all I’ll say. It was like napalm, sexual napalm. Did you ever say, ‘I want to quit my life and just fucking snort you? If you charged me $10,000 to fuck you, I would start selling all my shit just to keep fucking you.’”
If it shocks you to find out that Jessica is a freaky-deaky trollup in the bedroom capable of incredible feats of whoratrics, don’t be. I never bought that “good dumb girl” bit to begin with. When they first started dating, he brought her over to dinner because he claimed “I really like this one.”
When we first met, I really wasn’t even sure who she was. She flipped her hair more than I cared for and never stopped smacking her gum, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt because it wasn’t often John actually remembered one of his girlfriend’s names, much less be found with one in an upright position – and I wanted to be a supportive friend.
It started out to be a lovely evening. I was still with my ex-boyfriend Kanye West at the time – and he was grilling steaks. My ex-boyfriend Kanye West just LOVED to grill – and he is great at it. So while he and John were out back doing the macho man thing watching meat get charred on the grill, I got to know Jessica a bit in the parlor.
“So what do you do?” I asked, feigning interest and trying to pretend I didn’t notice her slowly humping the arm of the chair.
“I’m a singer and actress.” she said, smacking her gum like a cow chewing cud.
I tried. Lord knows I tried. I tried making conversation with the girl for more than 2o minutes – but she never stopped heaving and grunting. Most people would think that someone screaming ‘YES! YES! OHHH YESSSSSSS! BABY! OHHHH!!!!! YESSSSSS!” while describing something as mundane as my morning hike in Runyon Canyon to be flattering and indicative that she was truly engaged in my line of conversation. But really, I just found it a little too distracting. At first I thought she must really enjoy the sound of my voice -but when she started simulating oral sex on my espresso Pottery Barn candle pillar, I realized she hadn’t been listening to a word I said.
Right around the time she started straddling the Cuisinart in my kitchen, Kanye and John came back in the house wearing proud grins and carrying a plate of charred meat. Not a moment too soon too, because I really wasn’t prepared to see what would happen if Jessica hit the puree button.
It wasn’t until we sat down to dinner that I noticed that John was wearing the strangest outfit. Well, it wasn’t an outfit so much as his accessories. He was wearing a dog collar that appeared to have leash hanging from it. The only reason I noticed it was because Jessica took a hold of the leash and kept yanking it whenever he tried to speak freely.
“She’s a bit controlling, isn’t she?” I whispered to Kanye as I watched John ask permission to take a drink of water.
I thought it was weird that she called him “dirty pig boy”….but I figured, “who am I to judge?” My ex boyfriend Kanye West and I had little pet names for each other. I’d call him “Love Muffin”. He’d call me “Crazy Bitch, I’m not gay so stop breaking into my house!” When you’re in love, you make up funny terms of endearment for one another. To each her own.
It wasn’t until I found John bound and gagged in my bathroom wearing false eyelashes and a Victoria’s Secret “Secret Embrace” push up bra that I realized his relationship with Jessica Simpson might not be the healthiest, most functional choice.
“Oh honey.” I said, looking down at the poor pathetic pop sensation in drag.
“I’m addicted to her, man!” he cried,”‘I’m fucking addicted.”
You know what happened after that. Things eventually crashed and burned. He drowned his sorrows in a million trashy groupies and Jennifer Aniston. It was all very tragic. Like Romeo and Juliet meets Dominatrix without a safe word.
On the upside, Jessica and I are now very close, wonderful friends. She’s adorable – and makes a mean banana strawberry smoothie. The girl really does love hitting that puree button.
Love ya like a Simpson Smoothie,