Why am I not surprised at all that Nicollette Sheridan – the skanky “Wait! Me too!” desperate housewife – is reportedly rotten in the sack? She may play a sexy seductress like a pro, but there’s just something about her that screams that all of that plastic surgery is for naught.
Sheridan’s ex-fiance, Nick Solderblom, is now proudly displaying his blue balls to the world by telling a British newspaper that he and Sheridan only had sex six times in the eight months that they were together. To add insult to ridiculousness, he rated her sexual performance a 2 (… out of a million).
Really though, Solderblom should have seen the writing on the wall when he learned the only way he could get Sheridan off was to vigorously scrub his face with wax paper and hum “When a Man Loves a Woman” into her gaping cleavage.
Dull Lover Nicollette Sheridan [FemaleFirst]
Published by Rob on January 23, 2006
in News and TV.
An editor’s note on the GLAAD homepage pointedly denies that the anti-defamation group is waging war on American Idol - contrary to reports like this one.
I realize that GLAAD has to be careful about appearing overly shrill, but you know what? They should target Idol. I’m a fairly mean-spirited person, and even I can’t abide Idol’s increasingly sour ridicule of its nerdy, lonely, hapless (and, yes, very often apparently gay) auditioning hopefuls.
I would imagine that many of the kids who try out for Idol are rural gay teenagers whose misguided dreams of stardom are their only escape from a dismal life of narrow-minded parents, incompetent school systems, abusive classmates, minimum wage part-time jobs, and church. So for the show that launched the careers of a thousand closet cases (well, at least three), it seems awfully disingenuous to poke fun at the fagginess of the poor souls who made it a hit in the first place.
Editor’s Note [GLAAD]
Gay rights group: ‘American Idol is homophobic’ [Contact Music]
Hollywood Tuna is conflicted about its feelings for Fergie, even when she’s poured into an ill-fitting bikini. But we have no such ambivalence. We think she’s gross.
And we’re not sure why the photos at the link were taken, or why we’re even posting them, but this madness needs to stop. Something’s got to give.
First she ruined a forgettable if inoffensive hip-hop act with her artless caterwauling and mascot-like va-va-voomsmanship. Then she stole our beloved Josh Duhamel. Then her presence propelled said blandly inoffensive hip-hop act to a level of overexposure not seen since the halcyon days of Beyonce’s reign of terror. (The Peas even pop up in the trailer for the upcoming Poseidon Adventure remake, due for release before Shelley Winters’ corpse is even cold.)
All this for a woman whose looks and talent suggest - at best - a latter-day Taylor Dayne. We don’t plan on actually seeing Poseidon, of course, but if anyone has seen an early cut, it would help us sleep tonight if you’d write in and confirm that, once the giant wave hits the boat, Fergie is the first to go.
Fergie bikini pictures [Hollywood Tuna]
Poseidon [Apple Movie Trailers]
As if it’s not humiliating enough to be kicked off Project Runway by a panel of judges that includes bite-sized figure skater Sasha Cohen, poor Emmett McCarthy had to endure this ignominy while wearing a hot pink, puffy-sleeved, lycra skating chamise that highlighted the contours of his 42-year-old torso.
He also became the latest victim of the producers’ jerry-rigged floating of the obnoxious, incapable-of-following-directions Santino over more competent but less drama-friendly contestants. And if you’re going to lose, losing the “Let’s design figure skating costumes!” challenge has to hurt a lot, because it means that your design was uglier than all the other figure skating costumes.
The brilliant, scarily fanatical Blogging Project Runway has Emmett’s take on the man-boob-exposing pink shirt. Other favorite moments from last night: The usually ultra-smooth Tim Gunn floundering on ice skates, and ultra-nelly Andrae’s description of his design: “This is Princess Cyclone!”
More Emmett Love [Blogging Project Runway]
After blanketing every bus and subway station in every major city with ads in which Heather Graham’s vacant baby blues gaze out at disgruntled commuters, ABC has killed Emily’s Reasons Why Not after just one airing. Seems Rollergirl didn’t have the muscle to carry the long-dead genre of the Sex and the City rip-off (the hideously unflattering boob dress she wore to last fall’s network up-fronts, seen at right, couldn’t have helped).
The writing was on the wall for this show when ABC refused to screen anything but the pilot for critics. Were the subsequent episodes so bad that ABC used the pilot’s lousy ratings as an excuse to keep them hidden forever?
Heather Graham is unemployed [Egotastic]
Nothing brings out the horny in celebrities like an awards show after-party. Just ask that elevator that Scarlett Johansson and Benicio Del Toro famously befouled after the Oscars two years ago.
Now comes word of voracious face-sucking between Eva Longoria and Jamie Foxx at CAA’s post-Golden Globes bash.
Between Eva’s football player-screwing and Latino cop-berating and Jamie’s inability to pronounce the names “Laura Linney” and “Pierce Brosnan,” it’s clear these two won’t be doing much for the gene pool if they ever pro-create. But who knows? Maybe Eva just found herself cornered by Jamie and, in order to get him to stop talking up his album and screeching “She take my MO-NEY!” she had to stick her tongue down his throat.
You or I would have done the same.
World exclusive: Eva and Tony ARE over!!! [Perez Hilton]
Hollywood’s love affair with the rose-stemmin’ sheep wranglers of Brokeback Mountain continued unabated, as the year’s top weeper scored trophies for Best Drama, Best Director, Best Screenplay and Best Song. Rounding out what is shaping up to be the queeniest year ever in movie awards, Philip Seymour Hoffman’s insatiable bottom Capote and Felicity Huffman’s Transamerica Mister Sister won the top dramatic acting awards. Other highlights:
- Moo-riah presenting Best Original Song in a gown that made it look like her breasts were attempting a Prison Break.
- Jonathan Rhys Meyers’ profoundly coked-up Elvis acceptance speech was nearly topped in incoherence by Joaquin Phoenix, who won for Walk the Line. Later, the two were seen later hanging out together (sniff) by the bar (sniff sniff).
- Presenter Jamie Foxx somehow managed to mispronounce nominee Laura Linney’s name. Lau-ra. Lin-ney. It’s not that hard. Soon after, when Harrison Ford called Tony Kushner “Tony Kershner,” he at least had an excuse: He was holding his wine glass the whole time.
- Collagen addict Melanie Griffith (”star of the WB’s Twins!”) was ignominiously hauled onstage, her white trash deltoid tattoo proudly exposed. She was tasked with introducing Miss Golden Globe, the nepotism recipient responsible for standing silently and handing trophies to people who’ve actually accomplished something. This year, Griffith announced, it was her own daughter, Dakota (ugh) Johnson, who then joined her mother onstage, looking like she was about to throw up. I swear to God - there’s no other way to describe the look of absolute terror and nausea that struck this girl’s countenance as she stood silently behind the microphone and clutched her mother’s arm. After Melanie finished talking, the two rushed to the wings, where Dakota presumably ralphed all over the nearest lowly PA.
- Dennis Quaid said that Brokeback Mountain is the type of film that rhymes with “chick flick,” a line I really hope he didn’t write.
- Ryan Phillippe’s affectionate man-handling of Reese Witherspoon when her win was announced suggests they’re genuinely in love, which depresses us for some reason.
- Mary-Louise Parker was blatantly unamused by presenter Chris Rock’s jokes about her show Weeds. But who didn’t appreciate her declaration that she wants to make out with co-star Elizabeth Perkins?
- Anthony Hopkins’ Cecil B. DeMille Award proves once again that no great actor has starred in so few good movies. In fact, 90% of Hopkins’ career is composed of howlers and duds. After clips of the usual suspects - Howards End, Nixon, The Remains of the Day, The Bounty, The Elephant Man, The Silence of the Lambs - rolled by, we wondered, “what, are they gonna show Meet Joe Black?” And they promptly did. Along with Bad Company. And Instinct. And Surviving Picasso. And Amistad. And Magic. Somehow, Freejack, The Road to Wellville and Bram Stoker’s Dracula failed to make the cut. And doughy, preggers presenter Gwyneth Paltrow’s irritating insistence on referring to Hopkins as “Antony” made us want to slap her even more than usual.
Sadly, forces beyond our control made it impossible for us to watch the Golden Globes together (we had to divide and conquer limited quantities of gin), but we were able to textcast much of the ceremony for each other’s amusement. And now, a transcript.
Jordan: I’ve never been more embarrassed for celebs than I am now.
Rob: So you’re watching E! then?
Jordan: Yes.
Jordan: Mary Louise Parker = Molly Shannon skit without the vag flash
Rob: Melanie Griffith’s daughter = retarded
Jordan: Melanie Griffith = Courtney Love
Rob: Harrison Ford = shitfaced
Jordan: The Housewives girls are all over each other. WTF?
Rob: Jonathan Rhys Meyers had total coke nose.
Jordan: Good call. I confused it for heroin sweats, especially ’cause of how he manhandled his gf, and then overly-thanked her.
Jordan: Oh god. Paltrow. Everything about her is yellowing. What’s the rule for the drinking game?
Rob: Every time she says “Antony,” do a shot.
Jordan: I want him to pronounce her name “Gwynit” just to get back at her.
Jordan: Eastwood is officially in my 2006 dead pool.
Rob: Uh, Joaquin is in my dead pool.
Jordan: Joaquin gets off stage: “Where the fuck is Rhys Meyers?”
There was more, but after my sixth G&T, I realized I was text messaging into the DVD remote control. Rob should be following up tomorrow with the official Golden Globes recap.
So it turns out that when Ricky Martin decides he wants to make a come back, he doesn’t just release a new album, he releases all over everything.
First, there were the photos of a Speedo-clad Ricky practicing beach kamasutra with an unidentified man. And now, Ricky admits in an interview that he enjoys a fair amount of piss play in his romantic life, igniting a torrent of criticism from all walks of life, including Puerto Rican political leaders.
But it’s okay, you see, because Ricky isn’t at the receiving end of the golden shower - he only gives it, which is apparently completely acceptable.
“I love giving the golden shower. I’ve done it before in the shower. It’s like so sexy, you know, the temperature of your body and the shower water is very different.”
Now, I can only hypothesize, but wouldn’t the recipient of the urine bath be the only one to appreciate the differing temperatures of the shower water and the yellow water? Maybe this is just one of those things that we Americans are too uptight about; in Latin America, perhaps it’s completely acceptable to talk about these sexual taboos. Which would suggest that Shakira’s “Oral Fixation” is something far dirtier than any of us imagined.
Personally, I’m troubled by the fact that Ricky would sooner publicly admit he’s turned on by water sports than admitting that he’s turned on by men.
Wee controversy for Ricky [SMH]
Why am I not surprised at all that Nicollette Sheridan – the skanky “Wait! Me too!” desperate housewife – is reportedly rotten in the sack? She may play a sexy seductress like a pro, but there’s just something about her that screams that all of that plastic surgery is for naught.
