Today's Evil Beet Gossip

Samantha Ronson Has a New Girlfriend


It’s been a little over a week since Lilo was barred from entering Charlotte Ronson’s clothing line launch party, and the news spread that Sam and Lady Lolo were splitsville. But already, rumors are spreading that Samantha Ronson has a new girlfriend– a dark-haired “mystery woman” named Cindy– and was seen getting up close and personal with her at that very party. This same woman was also reportedly seen coming out of Ronson’s home this past Sunday morning.

Suddenly, Lilo’s tweets about Sam being a “cheat” make a lot more sense, as does Ronson’s decision to ban Lohan from entering the party since the “other woman” was going to be there. Lindsay Lohan would definitely smack a bitch.

Truth is Stranger Than Fiction

The above 2007 “interview”, in which Tracy Morgan calls out Oprah and impersonates a pregnant woman while lying on the news desk, will be used in its original format in an upcoming episode of 30 Rock, further blurring the line between TV and reality, and the line between being funny and being batshit fucking insane.

John Mayer “Flirts” with Demi Lovato on Twitter


NASA scientists hope that equipment contained in the new module for the International Space Station (whose official name will be revealed on Tuesday’s Colbert Report ) will allow them to finally be able to differentiate between giant gaseous planets and John Mayer’s ego. It’s understandable that they’d be confused, since the two are so similarly massive with strong graviational pulls capable of bending visible light.

His handlers should probably get him off of Twitter. Now. Before he hits on any more 16-year-olds:

John Mayer had Demi Lovato virtually blushing after complimenting her new song “La La Land” on Twitter Thursday.

“I have ‘La La Land’ by @ddlovato stuck in my head,” Mayer tweeted. “Actually, it’s not stuck. I’m choosing to sing it. B section is sophisticated.”

The star of Disney’s Sonny with a Chance, who performed a song off her debut album Don’t Forget on Dancing with the Stars Tuesday, replied, “That is quite possibly the best compliment I’ve received in this business. Thank you so, so much!”

The two then engaged in an exchange, where Mayer, 31, told Lovato, 16, “You’re going to make lots of records, I can tell,” and “Write one song at a time and never, ever apologize for any of them, ever.”

Lovato tweeted, “See, that’s exactly what I needed to hear today. If that’s not inspiration, then I don’t know what is.”

Her fans were clearly flabbergasted, too. The teen later wrote, “I had so many of you guys say they were freaking out and so happy because I had an idol twitter me … I love you guys.”

Yeeeahhhhhhhh…..This is how it starts folks! You innocently compliment them on their song writing skills and next thing you know, that scary pale guy from Dateline is ambushing you in your kitchen. Some news services have called this exchange “flirting.” I don’t know if I’d be ready to jump that shark, but I will say that, flirting or not, it’s not good.

Run Demi!! A compliment from John Mayer is not something to be excited about– it’s something to be frightened of. Have you seen this?? You might not want to take encouragement or career advice from someone who would “Fuck [Perez Hilton] in the ass just to shut [him] up.”

I depend on you and your Disney Channel cohorts to make me feel better when I’m sick. I swear to God, the Disney Channel has healing properties–like a big ole wholesome, pop-culture, comericially-packaged adolescent bowl of homemade chicken soup. Don’t force me to think, “Demi Lovato idolizes doods who’d fuck Perez Hilton in the ass just to prove a point” while I’m trying to enjoy Princess Protection Program. That will only make me sicker. Are you trying to kill me?

A Night with the Flight

Jemaine is waaaaaaay hotter than Bret

Jemaine is waaaaaaay hotter than Bret

Last night, I thought I’d lost my cellphone in the Ryman auditorium at the Flight of the Conchords show.

This immediately led to fantasies of one of the guys finding the phone and liking my wallpaper of happy nacho chips drowning in cheese (and one morose chip who realizes what’s about to happen to him and his brethren) so much that they’d attempt to track down the phone’s owner and would somehow end up at my boyfriend’s house to hand-deliver the phone to me.

“Hey, come on in!” I’d say. “Don’t mind us. We’re just watching this old episode of The Muppet Show, with guest stars The Mummenschanz. Yeah, the stuff they do with clay is preeetttty cool!”

Then we’d all hang out and drink beers and get up early in the morning to go eat breakfast at the Loveless Cafe where I’d delight in elucidating the differences betwen redeye and sawmill gravies and explaining how in America, a biscuit is not a cookie.

That didn’t happen.

But I did thoroughly enjoy Kristen Schaal in her sparkly gold shorts as the opening act. Including other skits, she did a monologue about the life of a discarded mattress and the “Chubby Grocer” bit from her Comedy Central special. I will never get tired of watching her melodramatically shove copious amounts of chocolate cake in her piehole while yelling tearfully about “bestbians.”

Bret and Jemaine were amazing. Too bad I couldn’t hear half of the songs because the drunken douchebag next to me kept trying to sing along with songs like “If You’re Into It,” which is almost completely impossible to do on the recorded version, let alone a live version where they’re ad-libbing. He also kept fondling my leg and was all up in my space, even though his way-too-hot-for-him girlfriend was sitting right on the other side of him.

For a show not held in the feminine needs aisle of a Rite Aid, there sure were a lot of douches in the crowd last night, including one guy who boxed me out at the merch table and another whose show-going fashion sense consisted of a redcross styled t-shirt that read “Orgasm Donor” and a giant rip in the back of his jeans just below his butt cheek that provided his girlfriend with easy access to fondle his ass. I think FotC draws a heady mix of hipsters, comedy lovers, and frippies (combination frat boy + hippies) who once heard “Business Time” at a pledge mixer and thought it was the funniest fucking thing since that Adam Sandler song about the spring in the seat of his old car poking him in the balls.

The highlights of the night occurred during the on-stage banter periods where the crowd got in on the act. Something you should know about Nashville is that we are a very interactive crowd. Everyone here is either in a band, or married to someone in a band, or related to someone in a band, and we’re used to having conversations with acts while they’re on stage. For alot of people, paying the ticket price means you’re entitled to have a 1 on 1 conversation with someone, live in front of an audeince, while they’re trying to do a show. It’s not heckling so much as a “how do ya do?” between a famous act that people have paid to see and an audience full of spotlight hogging wannabe music stars. And everyone– EVERYONE– in Nashville thinks they are the funniest person you’ve ever met, and that the things they yell out during shows are not only worth hearing, but will actually enhance your show-going experience.

There were the ubiquitous shouts of “Freebird!” and far too many dickholes shouting “Where’s Murray?” (to which Jemaine finally replied, “He’s in New Zealand. Go look for him”).

However, the best comment of the night came from someone stage left who, after a slew of southern accent impersonations from the guys, shouted in a pitch-perfect kiwi impersonation, “Why don’t you play the next one Jemaine?!”

And they did.

It was an incredible show. I wish I had some pictures to show you. I brought my camera… I really did. But once the show started, I didn’t really give a shit enough about taking pictures to bother taking it out and aiming it. Sorry! If you get the opportunity to see them live, don’t pass it up. Trust me, you won’t regret it. And make sure to yell for Jemaine. Bret gets alot of loud, flashy, floosy love, but we all know who is the real hottie here, right?


Power Rangers Actor Sentenced to Death

Tired of riding Zords, they will kill you and steal your yacht.

Tired of riding Zords, they will kill you and steal your yacht.

As if Hasbro bastardizing Cobra Commander for the upcoming GI Joe live action movie wasn’t enough, get the lube ready– because your childhood is about to take another one up the ass.
Skylar Deleon, who guest starred as Roger in a few episodes of The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, has been sentenced to death for murder in the first degree.

Orange County Superior Court Judge Frank F. Fasel on Friday imposed the sentence recommended by the jury that convicted 29-year old Skylar Deleon of killing Tom and Jackie Hawks of Prescott, Ariz.

Prosecutors say the Long Beach man and a teen actor in a “Power Rangers” TV series feigned interest in buying the couple’s yacht and killed them during a test cruise in 2004.

Deleon overpowered them on a test cruise, tied them to an anchor and tossed them into the Pacific Ocean as they begged for their lives, according to the prosecution.

After the yacht killings, the prosecution said, Deleon and his then-wife Jennifer Henderson scrubbed the boat clean with bleach wipes in Newport Harbor.

The Hawks’ bodies were never found.

Deleon, who was also convicted of murdering an Anaheim man in 2003, admitted guilt in hopes that the “I was an abused child” defense would get him off the hook. It did not.

Even though he only played bit parts in a few episodes of Power Rangers, I’m still really weirded out by this. In terms of raping me right in the childhood nostalgia hole, I rank this right up there with when the development company bulldozed my grandmother’s farm house and built three multi-million dollar monstrosities on the same plot of land.

Is nothing sacred?

Parton Me? A Top Ten Album Released on Cracker Barrel Records?

Watching You Are What You Eat– the BBC show where the skinny pale-looking British lady smells your farts and looks at your poo to tell you you’ve got too much yeast in your diet– has convinced me to start referring to my weight in terms of stone instead of pounds– because 11 stone sounds so much more managable, and no one really has any idea how much that is. Stop your mouses right now– don’t you DARE go to a weight conversion site. I weeel keeel you.

That’s sort of an awkward segue into talking about how much I fucking looooooove Dolly Parton.  Maybe I could draw a flimsy connection to how I wish I was as confident in my own skin as she is. Whatever. I feel like talking about BBC America and Dolly Parton, so that’s what I’m going to do.

In reference to Miss Dolly, she’s got a new album out… on Cracker Barrel Records. Some of you might need a little bit of an explanation of what a Cracker Barrel is. It’s a southern cooking restaurant with lots of collectible crap plastered on the walls and a store attached to the front end where you can browse through scented candles and sweatshirts with glittery kitties on them while you wait to be seated. And they named it Cracker Barrel. Let the whitey jokes begin.

Released March 24, “Backwoods Barbie: Collector’s Edition” debuted at No. 9 on Top Country Albums and No. 40 on the Billboard 200, selling 12,000 copies its first week.

The title track will be featured in the Broadway musical9 to 5,” for which Parton wrote the score. The musical’s formal premiere takes place April 30 at the Marquis Theater in New York.

“Me and Cracker Barrel have a lot in common: We’re both Tennessee-based and country people,” Parton said during a break from “9 to 5″ rehearsals. “I thought we’d make a perfect pairing, and evidently it’s working.”

How awesome is it that there’s going to be a “9 to 5″ musical? And Having a top ten record come out of a Cracker Barrel is amazing. It’s the equivalent of one of those instrumental cd’s of jazz shit they circulate through Starbuck’s going gold.

And I love the fact that she named her album “Backwoods Barbie.” You’ve got to understand that she’s being self deprecating, not flag-waving some kind of backwards provincialism ala’ My Big Fat Redneck Wedding. Being “backwoods” is part of who she is and where she came from, but it’s not all there is to her.

If you think she’s just some backwoods trailer park pageant queen with less than two brain cells to rub together under that giant blonde wig, then you have obviously never bothered to listen to one of her interviews. Say what you want about giant knockers and removed ribs, but she teeters ever so gracefully– in tight sequined dresses and 4-inch heels– on a fine line between crass and class.

My dad drove a tour bus for an alt country group in the 70′s. Aside from what I am sure were copious amounts of drug use, that job also afforded him the opportunity to meet more than a few famous faces, including Dolly Parton at some sort of shindig in L.A. He introduced himself and talked to her for all of about five minutes.

Years later, while parking cars for an event at the Grand Ole Opry, Dolly rolled up, stepped out of her car, saw my dad, and exclaimed “Tom Hays! What in the hell are you doing here?!”

Just the fact that someone as famous as her– and we’re talking world-wide standard punchline in any joke about big boobs famous– not only remembered his name, but had the good manners to say hello to him and greet him like a long lost friend really floors me. Even if you knew nothing about her work with children’s literacy, or the fact that she is second only perhaps to Bob Dylan in terms of being responsible for almost every single hit song in the last 40 years, that alone should be reason enough for you to love her.

It might also explain how she’s managed to get a Cracker Barrel album into the top 10 on the Billboard country charts while Jessica Simpson can’t even manage to maintain her record deal.

And to answer your question: YES, I have been to Dollywood. And it was awesome.

Boxcutters Cut from Nelson’s Canadian Tour

Billy Bob Thornton and His Cigarette at Sundance, Pictures Photos

I’m off to a bit of a late start today. You can attribute that to a) a heinous cold, b) spending several hours yesterday wedged under a toilet in the downstairs bathroom trying to avoid being carried off to Oz, and c) Flight of the Conchords Show at the Ryman last night. I’ll have more to write about b and c some time later on this weekend.

As for now however, I’ve made my morning run to Bojangles for a Cajun Fillet with cheese and a coffee so large I swear I saw Michael Phelps doing laps in it. That just might be enough to prepare me to write about Billy Bob Thornton.

On the heels of this debacle, Billy Bob Thornton’s self-described “hillbilly British Invasion” band, The Boxcutters, have cancelled their invasion of Canada.

Billy Bob Thornton’s band has canceled the rest of its Canadian tour after the actor compared the country’s fans to mashed potatoes with no gravy in a testy interview that caused a sensation online.

The Boxmasters opened for Willie Nelson on Thursday in Toronto, where they reportedly were booed and met with catcalls of “Here comes the gravy.”

A note posted on Nelson’s Web site Friday said the Boxmasters were canceling the rest of their Canadian dates “due to one band member and several of the crew having the flu.”

The flu? Come on Willie! I give you way more credit than that. Although he certainly appeared delirious and vomited up nonsensical bullshit like so much watery chicken soup, I think it’s a little disingenuous to call a major case of “being an arrogant asshole” the flu.