We’ve all accidentally flashed our butt crack before, and if you’re my friend Chuck, you do it almost daily without a care in the world. But not everyone is famous and therefore, most moonings don’t make the news.
Can you guess which celeb bent down to spend some time with her tiny ones at the park and wound up giving the paparazzi a show?
OK, in a manner of speaking, anyway. But it wouldn’t surprise me either way. In a recent interview, Affleck states that he doesn’t want to work with his wife in films, but for good reason:
“Jen is a great actress. I would be profoundly lucky to work with her. But something tells me that people don’t want to see real-life couples together at the movies … I think audiences have a hard time suspending disbelief. They already know a whole bunch of things about the relationship you have with the other person and if you try and thrust you and another person into a fictional relationship, I think it is distracting.”
The only thing audiences have a hard time suspending, Ben, is their restraint to choke the living shit out of you anytime you open your mouth. But maybe that’s just me.
Is he even living in the family home anymore, or has Jen deported his rumored-cheating, definitely-alcohol consuming ass to the streets of NYC’s Bronx in search of his original Bennifer? Is he off tanning? Buying expensive, indulgently-obnoxious diamonds for women who only want him for his good looksPearl Harbor performance?
The two have been rumored to split every year since 2008, but nothing has happened — and by “nothing,” I mean that the couple still keeps popping out children despite rumors that all is not well. Until now. Because every time Garner was rumored to be pregnant in the past, she was. If a firm denial of a new pregnancy doesn’t say it all, nothing does. Maybe this is Jen’s uterus saying, “The gravy train’s over, pal.”
I love Jen. And I absolutely love her amazingly gorgeous daughters, Violet and Seraphina. But Ben Affleck? Uh, not so much.
Jennifer Garner picked up her daughter Violet from school in LA yesterday and it was lookin’ like she might be carrying baby number 3. Jennifer Garner is known for her chronically fit figure, so I doubt that she’s been packing on the pounds out of laziness. Her daughters Violet and Seraphina are absolutely adorable, so I’m hoping that that belly’s not a lie.
In what, dog years? I wouldn’t have put it past her to be late twenties, early thirties, easily. Damn, does she look fab.
Garner turned 38 this past weekend and celebrated with her daughter, Violet, on Friday afternoon. The star took time out of her busy schedule to sit for a pedicure with her four year-old daughter. On Saturday, the Garn hosted a party in the home she shares with Ben Affleck. It was said that her long-time friends, Reese Witherspoon, Tobey Maguire, Jimmy Kimmel, Molly Sims and Jason Bateman joined her for her birthday celebration.
No word on if Affleck was in attendance. No news I’ve seen claims that he specifically wasn’t, but no one has confirmed that he definitely was, either. Douche probably locked himself in the gardener’s shed with a bottle of Jim Beam while watching The Wedding Planner, Gigli and Enough.
We hear a lot about how often celebrity stalking is not taken seriously enough, but sometimes we hear stories of justice being served. Steven Richard Burky, the man who was found guilty on charges of stalking Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck, has been sent to live in a mental institution. From Radar Online:
“Steven Richard Burky, pleaded no contest today to two counts of felony stalking. Judge Katherine Mader then found him not guilty by reason of insanity and sentenced him to Patton State Hospital. Deputy District Attorney Wendy Segall said the judge made her ruling based on reports from two psychiatrists who examined Burky.”
On the chance that Steven is released from the mental institution, there has also been a 10-year, 500-yard restraining order put in place to protect Ben, Jen and the kids.
It’s definitely a positive sign for celebrities that their safety is being taken seriously, but it’s slightly sad to know that scaling the side of someone’s house to deliver them the presents you made them out of your own body hair will now get you locked away. Whatever. As long as James Franco loves the pet dog I wove him out of my pubes, I am totally fine eating Jell-O on a cot for the next 20 years of my life. I’ve seen Girl, Interrupted. I can hack that shit for James.
The first 2 seasons, I was all about it– from the moment double agent Sydney Bristow showed up in the lobby of the CIA wearing that raver wig and looking beat all to hell, till they pulled that crappy 2 year time lapse thing at the end of the second season and things started to get all weird and shitty.
That show was amazing, because it was the first time I can remember a female lead in a modern action series that wasn’t just two dimensional (or should I say, 32-DDimensional) but managed to be strong, sexy, smart, badass, and yeah, vulnerable at the same time. Before you could say “Emmy nomination” I was signing up for Krav Maga classes and checking out books on game theory from the library. I never finished either the books the Krav Maga lessons (or the TV series for that matter) but I’m pretty sure Jennifer Garner, Bradley Cooper, and Michael Vartan all thank their lucky stars every day for that damn raver wig and the character beneath it who gave them their big breaks.
As I mentioned above, the show started going downhill for me after the end of the second season, and this week, Michael Vartan (who played Sydney’s love interest, Vaughn, on the show) finally nailed the coffin shut for me by getting engaged to his girlfriend Lauren Skaar, a woman he met in a Whole Foods parking lot in Los Angeles last year.
What the shit? The only thing I’ve ever managed to pick up at a Whole Foods is a growler of Yazoo beer.
So, congratulations and stuff…. I guess.
At least we still have Bradley Cooper. I know at least one writer on this website who is willing to be such a beard for him the L.A. Kings will constantly think it’s hockey playoff season.