Literally. Tearing. It. Up. We clogged our hotel toilet not once but twice, and left a mess worthy of The Stones circa 1978 for housekeeping to sort out (minus the needles, but including the blood).

Here’s proof:

Seriously, that photo is of us and even we are terrified looking at it.

That said, we have a VIP celeb sighting to share with you whores…

L. LO and Samantha Ronson at Hyde on Sunday night! Now, I would love to talk mad shit, but Lindsay is gorgeous. Tall, coke skinny and fabulous. Sam, on the other hand, looks like she has AIDS.

Anywhores, we’re taking a little rehab in Palm Springs right now, and are heading back to LA tomorrow. Stay tuned, bitches. We’ve still got three more days in LA, and two more days in Vegas…which means MANY more stories.

xxoo,

Kitty and Amber

Here we have the ever elegant and demure Rose McGowan at Comic-Con last week. It appears that she’s brought her newest boyfriend, who is probably packing at about 1.5 inches and clearly has an amazing upskirt opportunity on his hands.

Hey, you can’t blame him for starting early, but this takes “cougar” to a whole new level.

I won’t even start on the dress/bag/shoe combo. I wonder what ever happened to that amazing skein of string she wore to the Grammys in her Marilyn Manson days? That shit was amazing. And likely caused simultaneous cameltoes and wedgies. She’s brave, that one.

Word to your mom,

Kitty

There’s no other explanation for this outfit other than Mel B’s head is getting eaten by a massive, over-sized satin labia.

Her children should be proud. Or hungry? I don’t know. I’m basically drunk on breastmilk at this point.

Okay, so I have an honest question. Why are British people’s teeth so jacked up? It’s seriously like a national problem these days. Well, that and this.

But seriously, you guys. I spared you the pain of viewing the photo of her AND her husband, who arrived (ever so dapper) in a SUIT BLAZER and DENIM. Please, MAKE IT STOP. Ben Sherman should be crucified for this fact alone.

Peace and pearly pink vaginas,

Your girl, Kitty

I don’t even need to touch these images up in my ghetto Microsoft Paint. And since I have the ability to read people’s minds through pictures, let me narrate what’s going on here. 

Love, Amber

——————————————–

OMG you guys, it’s meee! MILEY! Um, and I just deep throated my icecream and I think I might vom. Oh god- gag reflex HELP. 

Much better- please feed it to me because obviously I shoved the icecream down my throat too far when I was told to feed myself. I am only 8 years old or something, right? Am I allowed to feed myself? Why is this blond eying me and this spoonful of brown soft serve so closely? Why does your t-shirt say “2 Girls, 1 Cup, Featuring Miley?”

I’m so much happier to be in my car with my super hot, legal age boyfriend/babysitter. See how good he is at feeding me? Isn’t he hot? And guys, what do “roofies” do? I heard him tell someone he put “roofies” in my icecream. Why is he shoving it in my mouth so fast? Why do I feel soooo amaazhing gahlaahaa…..

Hey you whores,

We’ve heard your bat calls. We’ve seen your smoke signals. And now we’re back, sluttier and more perverse than ever. You love it.

So Jen and little miss Violet were snapped out shopping in Brentwood yesterday. It appears that puberty is starting earlier and earlier these days, as Violet was overheard asking, “Mommy, what’s tampax?”

Jen, looks like it’s time to go organic.

Have a happy period,

Kitty

So some of you bitches are wondering why we haven’t been writing. TRUST when I say that I’m only half-sorry. 

We’ve been splitting our time between the hotdog stand down the road, shopping, watching The Hills, Project Runway, and chasing boys. We’ve been entertaining ourselves so much that we’ve forgotten to entertain you, so we’re BACK! And we’re going to try to write more, we promise. Sorta. Don’t hold us to it.

We still loves you so much. I think Kitty has a badass post for you today, so enjoy. 

Hugs, tears, and jello shots,

Amber

Hola, Bitches.

Amber and I are sorry we have been so absent lately. We’re ho-bags and asshats, we know. Life has been busy, what with all of the shopping, clubbing, eating and general slutting out we have to do on a daily basis.

Anyway - I feel the need to explain something. I am not related to Hulk Hogan, and my name is not Brooke. There, I said it. To all of you nasty-ass “Ballers”, “Playas”, and “Pimps”, I’m not your shorty, I don’t want to lick your lollipop and no you can’t “get at me” this weekend. My name is not Brooke, and I’m not a transvestite hooker. Okay, only sometimes.

There.

Now, moving on. This poor bitch (and I mean it, he’s poor, and I feel bad for him) came on The Crypt Keeper last night and pleaded his case.

In case you were wondering:

Anyway, listen, Hulk - there’s just not much to say. Your soon-to-be ex wife is banging a nineteen year old. I suppose it serves you right for cheating on her with a twenty-year-old while wearing spandex and making her brush and braid your extensions. You should know that the only man allowed to wear extensions is Bret Michaels. He’s also the only man allowed to bend me over and show me who’s boss while gently singing “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn” in my ear, but that’s a story for another day.

Speaking of: Bret, if you’re out there, I think Kitty is the perfect name for your next Rock of Love.

Love,

Kdog

Dear Ed,

The price is wrong, bitch! Haha. Remember that line from Happy Gilmore!? Oh wait. That was in reference to Bob Barker. I always get you two confused with the announcer voice and the foundation and the orange self-tanner. Anyway, the price is still wrong, bitch!

So, I’m sorry about your mortgage troubles. I wanted to tell you that I have some girlfriends back home in the motherland that have offered to “make you feerr better and ruv you rong time,” if you’re interested. You’re from that generation, right? I know your type. Even though you said “Johnny (Carson) once described our relationship by saying we were as close as two people could be without being married,” we all know you don’t like the puckered starfish and/or the frank and beans. You really like the South Pacific Hoo-Ha. It’s not your fault. It’s magical voodoo.

Ed, why is Wendy Pepper from Project Runway season 1 in your backseat? And why does your face look like she just gave you a shocker? You dirty old man. I love it.

Here’s a thought: You should go back and do more Budweiser commercials. Everyone likes a nice ice cold BL. Here’s another thought: David Beckham should divorce his too-tan bag of bones and marry me. It’d be mayja.

Love always,

Kitty

Look, I’m not saying anything that no one else hasn’t said before. God, that sentence was confusing.

Anywhoo - Aubrey O’Day is a dude and everyone knows it. Except maybe Donnie Klang-On. But when he finds out, I’m sure he’ll like it.

Judging from this picture, maybe she’s not the only dude in these parts. At least two of the other four are seriously packing in the pelvic region. Either that or they really believe what W Magazine said, like, three years ago about how “the bush is back”. Which, just to be clear, it’s not.

In any event, here they are:

“Bright colors and styles that stand out?” Yeah, more like “I love to stuff my maillot swimsuit with a fruit basket that sticks out the sides and the back. You should see the rear shot!”

Whores. All of you.

Oh, and also? That photo shoot was sonot done at the W in Los Angeles. We all know you fame-whores just went down to the local mall and visited Dionne and Shawna at the Phototazz/Glamour Shot ”studio” where you were posted up in front of a fake gazebo and told to cling to $1.99 Kmart 20 thread count sheets. That shit has bad airbrush “$29.99 special” written all over it. Speaking of “Damaged”.

Kitty

I’ve come to the conclusion that LaToya Jackson and Tila Tequila are long-lost sisters. Or lovers. You decide.

Observe:

1. Gorgeous natural hair

2. Whorish mouths and naturally gigantic tits

3. A love for dirty, fatty meat

4. Names that sound like something you’d do in a toilet after a long night of drinking.

Now that I think about it, Tila should hire LaToya as a love consultant on A Shot At Love, and then throw the whole competition and run away with her into the sunset where they can eat tuna fish sandwiches and braid each other’s hair for all eternity.

One love, y’all.

Kitty

Hey you whores,

I generally don’t have anything bad to say about Sarah Jessica Parker. Today is different, though. She would greatly benefit from a diffuser and maybe some La Mer creme. That’s a hot frizzy mess happening on her head. And also, it looks like she’s wearing ice skates. There, I said it.

Now, off to worship at the altar of Carrie Bradshaw.

Sex and meat,

Kitty

Angie, you dumb whore. I really do have complete and total disdain for you. Yet, for some reason, this photo has me mesmerised.

I fear that if I look dead into your eyes I’ll become a poor, defenseless, divorced actor with blond highlights; and then you’ll bite me in the neck and hypnotize me into planting my sperm in your uterus. Then your vagina will grow teeth and dismember me. But I’m onto you and your antics to take over the world. Oh yes, I am.

Also, please stop sending Amber and I photos of your pregnant belly and ugly tattoos. Yes, we’re perverted ho-bags, but his last one just went too far:

Thank God I care more about whether Bill Clinton has lost his mind or his mojo.

Good luck pushing twins out of that coochie, girlfriend.

Kitty

Amber: Hey Clay! I heard you knocked a woman up. ATTA BOY!

Clay: You got it, Sister! (Damn, I look so sexy when I wink.)

Amber: Um, you kinda look like you’re having a stroke. But anyway, how was the sex?

Clay: Waaaiiit. What sex?

Amber: You did have sex with a woman, right? You got her pregnant?

Clay: Um.

Amber: CLAY. Did you use a turkey baster? Be honest.

Clay: Tee hee hee!! Snort. Tee hee hee!!!!

Amber: God. Way to be mature. Just when I thought MAYBE you weren’t gay. So Clay, if you don’t like the vagina, do you like the man meat?

Clay: Ah, my manager doesn’t want me answering any of those sorts of questions. God, this foundation is making me sweat.

Amber: OK, then take a look at my hot va-jay-jay. Want some of this? (pulls dress up.)

Clay: Amber. Please put that away. I can’t look at it directly. I feel sick.

Amber: Ok, sorry. (pulls dress down). I should have gotten a wax before I did that.

Photos from The Superficial

I never really liked Tori Spelling. Mainly because in second grade, this little douche named Elias Gonzales (illegal immigrant, duh) told me I looked like her. He was a dirty little whore, and she is too by association.

Only, this photo kind of makes up for my years of resentment because allegedly, Tori is a fan of the meat. Hot dogs, to be specific.

Tori, look at your face you coy little slutty home-wrecker, you. Your smirk tells me you may or may not be carrying Satan’s spawn inside of you - and that information is between you and him. Girlfriend, your ”wholesome pregnancy” is fooling no one.

But I’m willing to call a truce, since I can see that you love wieners. And in my mind, Donna Martin would totally approve of your enjoying meat that looks like male genitalia. She was a whore like that.

Love you, wiener breath.

Kitty

Look you whores! We made the cover of the New York Times Magazine!

They had a photo of Ambs and I instead of Tyra, but it was just too gorgeous and so they had to use TyTy’s mug instead.

Aren’t you proud of us?

Hey bitches (and our girl Meguire, who is most certainly a hip bitch).

Okay, look really closely at this photo. What do you see?

I see two (obviously thrilled) black men, James Gandolfini (or some overweight white guy) and, upon closer examination, a durka durka who must have just escaped from the mental institution. Watch out, black guy on the left. He’s after your hot dog.

It’s a good thing Michael Jackson abides by the old trucking rule of ”If I can’t see them, they can’t see me”. How very sane and logical of him.

Who knew the brothas liked UFC so much?

In other news, I just saw a co-worker pick his nose. Score!

Love,

Kitty

Just when you thought it couldn’t get weirder than Thomas Beaty…it does.

Meat Eija-Riitta Berliner-Mauer of Sweden, who claims that she is married to the Berlin wall. Or, what is now her “mutilated husband“. She says she has Objectum-Sexuality, which really just means that she likes to have sex with objects. She claims that her attraction is mostly because of how the object looks.

Huh. I think she’s a superficial whore.

She said, “I find long, slim things with horizontal lines very sexy. The Great Wall of China’s attractive, but he’s too thick – my husband is sexier.”  

Surprisingly, I’m not really sure what to type right now.  Except that I might suggest she tries a hot dog. They are long and slim.

She also claims that she believes in reincarnation. She said, “…I have had relations to Fences, Walls, Bridges, Gates and other constructions in an earlier life, and that our paths have crossed several times. I have memories from these earlier lives. But of course I can’t prove it.”

Sure you can. A fence would tear you up and leave some permanent damage, I imagine.

This is one of the more disturbing things I’ve ever heard. But not as disturbing as this. Oh, and she also has a tab on her website called “Sexy Fences”. I’d tell you about it, but I was too scared to click it.

Anyway - here’s our girl E (I like to call her that for short) , posing with her new hot dog:

(via telegraph)

Oh hi, Lily Allen. Welcome to 2008.

Lily. Girlfriend. You know I love you. I really didn’t want to have to do this. We kick it in my car, in the shower and on my iPod at the beach.

Which is why I’m confused that you’re choosing to smoke from the same bong as Blossom Russo and Mischa Barton. You know better than that. 

Oh and also, your blond hair still looks bad.

Anyway, I gave you a bag of bacon because at least this time you’re not topless. And also because you have a fresh pair of Nykes on.

Love,

Kitty

Oh hey, Brittany Snow. Remember that time Amber and I dropped a drink on your head?

Apparently it made you a hamburglar.

Love,

Kitty

I hope you enjoy my mad MS paint skills, you whores. I worked a good 3 seconds on this one.

Donni (I prefer the feminine spelling of his name) isn’t to blame in this photo. He DOES look like he belongs on hotchickswithdouchebags.com but on Making the Band, he seems so genuinely nice. It’s just the gelled hair and white hats that make me think of every guy I’ve ever known in New Jersey.

Aubrey, though, is whorish.

Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Aubrey?

Much love,

Amber