Check out Sophia Bush of One Tree Hill—I'm hesitant to say "fame"—recognizability(?) getting "zany" with her old sorority sisters at the USC chapter of Kappa Kappa Gamma.
Now, you might have looked down on sororities following that whole DePauw "No Fat Chicks" debacle, but just look at these pictures and notice what a stark difference there is between what sororities actually do and what you imagine they do.
See? Being in a sorority isn't all about pastel polos, enthusiasm over clothes, manicures, pillow fights, small portions and "urban" fellas providing the entertainment for all your white friends. It's about friendship and sisters and studying and…oh…wait a sec. Is she getting a manicure in a pastel polo shirt? Shit. I guess it is about all that previous stuff. Sorry.
One thing you may not know is that USC is in the middle of a black ghetto, meaning that all this whitewashed splendor is probably a half mile away from dozens of homeless people who are almost certainly in more need of Lacoste's time and money. Maybe their hair wasn't shiny enough.
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Dogs eat their own shit. Fact. I know every pet owner thinks their li'l guy would never do something so "abhorrent"—the clown who wrote that article I linked to even calls it "socially unacceptable"—but you can't keep an eye on your pooch all the time. And, chances are, even if they're not eating their own waste, they're definitely licking parts of their body you wouldn't serve food off of.
So, Jessica, would you mind taking your lips off of that slobbery sewer and get back into Fantasy Land?
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Which is sadder, seeing some schlub alone, hunched over his Cheesy Chili Egg Rolls at TGIFriday's or seeing a starlet with a fake tan alone, dining on Parliament Lights and coffee at a pricey Beverly Hills joint?
I'd say the TGIFriday's guy, but that look of existential confusion on Lohan's face makes it a tough call.
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After a short break for the weekend, Someone Haiku is back in all it's 17 syllable glory. As usual, many of Friday's entrants were strong, but a victor must be chosen.
Today's winner is ronnie:
Rosie Tom Bill O
Imus all have naps in their
hard-hearted logic
Excellent, ronnie. You should know that extra points were added for the unnecessary—but certainly welcomed—potshot on Bill O'Reilly.
Today's haikus should focus on the above photo of jokingly right-wing bigot Ann Coulter rubbing elbows at the TV Land Awards with Jimmie Walker, perhaps better known as JJ Evans from Good Times. How amusingly unexpected!
"Dy-no-mite" might be an appropriate starting point. Cheers!
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In the wake of the success of Someone Haiku, we at MollyGood have decided to include another daily feature to enhance reader participation (guess we were a li'l late on the UGC kick, huh?). We want to get your creativity flowing even more, and help you better fill anywhere from one to four more minutes of your workday with procrastination.
"Headline on Your Shoulders" is like a caption contest but, instead of captioning the image given, you need to come up with a witty headline to accompany it. Keep it punny and—while it's never preferable to share requests with Bill O'Reilly—we ask you to please, "keep it pithy." And also, try to keep it interesting. What's that mean? Well, let's say the headline up above was "Gimme Headlines." That's a pun, and it's succinct, but it's not very interesting. Y'know?
The very first Headline on Your Shoulders subject will be this dizzyingly revelatory picture Dita Von Teese, who, it appears, didn't come out of the womb knowing that she wanted to be a burlesque pinup model.
After this, let's pretend she's always been on point with the bustier stuff, kay?
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Once you have children, it's time to remember that being slightly ugly all the time is better than being pretty until you go swimming. Otherwise, once the waves slam off all the eyeliner and you come out of the water looking like a spilled-on oil painting, you're stuck with confused kids. Didn't your dad ever shave off his moustache?
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Hey, babe, sorry I've gotta be the one to tell you this, but spotty and brown with orange skin is the way people should describe irregular stools, not looks.
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"You don't let niggers or chicks tango here, do you? What? What sign? Hey, is that Britney Spears!"
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Problem drinkers, your time has come! Puking on yourself has finally become cool! Otherwise, why the fuck would anybody be producing clothes that make it look like you've done just that?
Now all we need are pre-pissed pants and frat boys round the world can rejoice in full!
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Day two of Someone Haiku was just as smashing as the previous. I'm happy to see so many people flexing their poetic muscles. Note that while absolutely appreciated and admired, limericks aren't yet valid entries. Nonetheless, keep it all coming.
Today's winner is Becca, for her astute and succinct poetic musing:
It took us two months
To know what Maury Povich
Could know in a day.
Good work, Becca. E-mail me here to claim your prize.
The topic for Someone Haiku today will be Anna Nicole Smith's final film, Illegal Aliens, debuting at the Cannes Film Festival next month. For some inspiration, look here, then imagine WWE "superstar" Chyna Doll screaming "suppository" amid the art house flicks people have spent decades seeing to fruition. Good luck!
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See what freshly unbastardized Dannielynn has to look forward to? Vampires in her bloodline that will stop at nothing to profit from her mother's somewhat offensive—and oftentimes embarrassing—fame. Yay!
Here's Anna Nicole's sister striking while the iron's hot and the body's cold with a biographical yarn she most certainly wrote in evil spirit only entitled Train Wreck: The Life and Death of Anna Nicole Smith.
With sisters like this, who needs profiteering bitches?
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Justin Timberlake has recently taken credit for an increase in McDonald's sales and Grammys viewership, noting that his involvement with both institutions increased their success in their respective markets by a full 25 percent.
The former Mouseketeer told British GQ that McDonald’s “market share went up 25 percent when I walked into those offices and changed their image.”
"I regret the McDonald's deal," he told the magazine.
Timberlake, 26, also says he used his Midas touch to pump up the Grammys: “when I did the Grammys, the viewing figures went up by 25 percent."
You'll remember that Timberlake sang the "I'm Lovin' It" ditty for McDonald's, thereby completely overhauling their image from shitty burger joint to shitty burger joint that hires "hip" pop stars to represent their nuggets.
Justin, stick to singing hooks, guy. Your yapping bravado just reminds everyone that you don't comprehend basic tenets of logic. I can't believe they didn't teach you that in N*SYNC dance camp.
Perma-stern Ryan Reynolds is rumored to be brunching with the most overhyped set of boobs and an ass since the Three Stooges, none other than Scarlett Johansson.
On Saturday night, the pair were seen getting close at the Manhattan restaurant Odeon. "They were in a good mood," says one eyewitness who saw them laughing and smiling.
"They were definitely holding hands," says another observer. "They were a cute couple!"
Johansson, 22, who is a New York native, and Reynolds, 30, who ended his engagement to Alanis Morissette in February, also spent Easter together.
The pair, who were with a group of pals, arrived at the Carlyle hotel around 4 p.m. Sunday for the $135 prix fixe lunch.
The whole group "was having a blast," says one witness. "It looked like a group of friends. I don't even think they were celebrating Easter."
Can't be true. Ryan Reynolds doesn't laugh, smile or have "a blast."
Today, the New York Times asked, "Is it too late to bring civility to the web?" If Joe Rogan is any indication, yes, it is. But, in the hope that a short-tempered 40-year-old calling a heckler half his age a "cunt of man" isn't a Zeitgeist defining moment, I think we should all continue to do our best to keep the web genteel.
So in an effort to bolster the ever-assailed decorum of the Internet, today MollyGood will be ushering in a new feature called "Someone Haiku;" because what's more civilized than poetry, motherfuckers?
Each day—using 17 syllables or less—you'll get the opportunity to wax poetic about some piece of flotsam or jetsam that's washed up on the shores of MollyGood. Hopefully this Zen practice will not only bathe you in self-discovery, but also bring a touch of Eastern class to a global network of information that's devolved into nothing more than tit websites and provocative MySpace pictures.
The best submitted poem will be posted in Someone Haiku the following day, and the winner will certainly glow with satisfaction.
If you don't know how to write a haiku, a very basic tutorial can be found here (five syllables in the first line, seven syllables in the second, and five in the last).
This first installment of Someone Haiku will focus on Jason Wahler, "star" of The Hills who was recently taken into police custody before calling his arresting officer a "nigger," a "faggot" and a "poor fuck."
Too bad for Jason, but lucky us—nigger, faggot and poor fuck are only two syllables each! Here's a sample to get you started:
Can you hate someone
and also not care 'bout them?
What a poor, poor fuck.
See? Simple enough. Leave your entries in the comments section or e-mail them to me here. As this is the very first Someone Haiku, the author of today's best haiku will receive a MollyGood t-shirt, so that they might share their pastimes with the world while being slightly more stylish.
Good luck 'ku-ing, all.
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Good news for fans of shoes and fantasy worlds where even the prudes are sluts: The Sex and the City movie is a go! Here's Sarah Jessica Parker out in the city that accompanies the sex.
Look forward to Manolos and innuendo galore. I'll get you started:
Samantha: "So, Carrie, is he really Mr. Big?"
Carrie: "Samantha, they didn't dice the chicken in your Caesar salad, but I guess you've always liked them uncut!"
Miranda: "I'm not cheap! You think I'm a tightwad? Really?"
Carrie: "I think you're tighter than me."
Samantha: "Well, if we're talking tightness, I think Charlotte's got us all beat!"
Charlotte: "You guys!"
Can't wait.
If different parts of LA represented the stages of a woman's life, West Hollywood would be the slutty teenage years, Venice Beach would be college when she tries out dreads and kissing her Women's Studies classmate and Silver Lake is graduating undergrad and working for a couple years at a non-profit.
But, way out West, after she's traversed all that other terrain, a woman will find Santa Monica. Santa Monica is the time in a woman's life when she says fuck it, quits the non-profit, marries a producer, only eats avocado and goat cheese salads and drives the kids to private school in a Lexus. It's the sellout locale, which is why it sucks. But, that's also why it's the best place to be pregnant. The whole place feels like pregnancy: warm, sterile and expensive.
Good choice, Bridget.
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Why is cycling the one sport for which amateur participants feel the need outfit themselves like they're pros? Every beer soaked corporate softball game has at least two duffers in tank tops, and I've never seen a group of guys with shoulder pads and helmets on playing football at a park. But it seems like everyone who really gets into bicycles feels the need to go out and get special shoes, gloves, spandex shorts, a jersey, etc, etc, until "bike riding" looks like "preparing for the wars of the future."
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Just a reminder: you don't have to shake hands with black guys like this. Sometimes they'll lead the handshake and then you just gotta go with it but, if you're leading, a standard palm-to-palm grasp is more than sufficient. Automatically jumping into the curling fingers and fist bumping is just like calling them "brother" or asking them how they get their hair to "do that."
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