Dear Mr. Woods,

Next time? Don’t come home wearing her lipstick. Then The Mrs. won’t have to chase you down trying to smash your head in with your own golf club free you from your smashed car.

Love, Me.

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Who has two thumbs and a shitty shirt?

This girl.

Well, not really this girl, because dude? Did you see that shirt? Why the brass knuckles? It’s like the motherfuckin’ A Team all over again.

I pity da foo.

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I am Team Psycho-stalker-pervert-old-man-vampire-cold-as-ice-Edward lover while Karen is all about the fuzzy warm drooling hound werewolf Jacob.

As much as we love the books and are braving the masses on the pre-release night of New Moon, we are on opposite teams when it comes to vampire and werewolf hotness.

I do believe we are on the same team when it comes to creep-tastic wall decals…

which look like they’ve been written in blood…

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Welcome to the Weekly Edition of Poptastrophe. Our friends over at MamaPop are made of win, and they have their fair share of catastrophes over in the celebrity circus arena. Together we have decided to form :

The Poptastrophe Alliance.

This is good for you – you get the worst of celebrities, served to you on a platter, every Friday.

Remember the good ‘ol days when the National Enquirer used to focus on crop circles and Jesus shaped french toast?  Now – after a string of verified breaking stories – when they report, people listen.  (Maybe you should take a second look at your breakfast after all.)

So when I read that the latest in philandering douche canoes was none other than His Royal Hotness Josh Duhamel…I sort of believe it.  It does have the ring of truth.  Especially since the stripper passed a polygraph.

Read more at MamaPop!

Kimmy Gibbler called.  She wants her tights back.

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