Google's #1 Shrimpjaw
Pop quiz, Shrimpfans. What's better than receiving the best celebrity news from the most virile, intelligent, sexually potent homo shrimpjawicus on the planet?
Answer: Nothing. God, you guys are fucking idiots. That had to be the simplest question in the history of time, and you still managed to botch it. Sometimes Shrimpjaw doesn't even know why he bothers getting out of his huge, italian marble bed, inlaid with gold and emeralds. Then he remembers that whatever beautiful woman he banged last night is going to wake up soon, and she's going to want to cuddle and talk about her feelings. And when we explain to her (in the fewest words possible) that no woman alive can tame the wild Shrimpbeast, she's going to go batso-fucking-bonkers all over us and we're going to have to call in Dr. Machoire to haul her off to the "Woman Who Have Gone Crazy with Love for Shrimpjaw" wing of the compound's psych ward. By that time our mood is so ruined that we can barely eat our American Eagle egg omelette. That pretty much seals the deal right there.
And now for some blobtastic baby news. What the fuck is up with all this controversy surrounding the recent celebrity use of the term "blob" to describe their offspring?
Wait, back up a shrimp second.
First off, what the fuck is up with all of these celebrities using the word "blob" to describe their offspring? Don't tell me that this is the new celebri-fad, or something. It's like all of the celebri-moms got together and decided it would be the cutest thing if they all started referring to their kids as "blobs". Shrimpjaw can see it now. Manjaw, Kate Hudson, Gwen Stefani, Courtney Cox, Jada Pinkett, Angelina Jolie, Denise Richards, and Britney Spears all crowded around a table at the Olive Garden on Westwood Boulevard in LA, sharing a basket of bread sticks and discussing how absolutely CUTE it would be if they all started calling their kids "blob", while Jennifer Aniston watches from the parking lot and sheds a tear for her withered and useless ovaries. The only two absentees are Katie Holmes, the real Katie Holmes, who is strapped to a table beneath Clearwater, Florida while a giant alien squid beast cleanses her of thetans; and Kate Moss, who was too busy teaching Lila Grace the proper way to roll a 100 pound note to get the best suction.
This is just another example of the myriad of inexplicably crazy things that famous people do for no apparent reason. These behaviors run the gamut from eccentric clothing: "Gee, I think it's a great idea for me to go to [PRESTIGIOUS AWARDS CEREMONY] wearing a pink see-through garbage bag with glitter on it." to Sharon Stone...yep, pretty much anything she's ever done. We had Kaak do some research on the phenomena, and as far as he can determine, the unique mixture of camera equipment, public adoration, and barrels full of dollaz combine to form a volatile chemical agent which is absorbed through the skin. Electroencephalograph recordings of celebrities performing perception oriented tasks showed an absence of gamma band activity in the brain, indicating weak integration of critical neural networks in the brain. The process can be explained through mathematical notation as such:
Though that's really for our benefit, as we know that the average Shrimpfan's level of academic acuity is somewhere in the "watching Sesame Street in slow motion" range. This leads to another question: Is it possible to have an average fan base that consists of entirely below average people? We better get Quijada to start working on that one.
So, famous people do some crazy shit, but do people really need to get up in arms about this baby blob business? The last time Shrimpjaw checked, babies could not decipher any form of written or spoken language. A baby is not going to get offended if you call it "blob", or "bubble", or "useless sack of organs". You can call a baby "Rumixlcotzl" and all it will do is drool a little and go back to its main task of finding things it can put in it's mouth. We should know, because we call babies things all the time. In fact, last night after we were through giving Oscar Portero's wife Criada a romp in the garden of shrimply delights, one of their many infant children crawled into the room. We called it a disgusting parasite, and it just continued to play happily on the dirt floor of their hovel. The moral of the story is simple: Shrimpjaw is plowing his janitor's wife.
In further news, the New York Daily News has recently reported that sex scenes from the upcoming movie Factory Girl featuring Sienna Miller and Darth Life as a House look so damn real because, well, they are real. Director George Hickenlooper has been playing it coy, commenting, "Sienna and Hayden grew close during the filming. It was an emotional experience for all of us...I can't comment, you'll have to ask Sienna about it."
Okay, a couple of things here.
First of all, what's up with you, Hickenlooper? You trying to get all McKittrick on us? Let's not play games here. You know what went down. Don't act like you don't know what was happening. If terrible, pasty, gangly, skinny sex is going on right in front of you, you would know. If you are pointing a camera directly at the chunnel that Jude Law has conquered, I'll be damned if you don't notice something like Hayden Christensen's Anakock sliding in and out of both the camera-frame and her vagina. It's just not something you'd miss...unless Hayden's dizzick is too small to detect! OOOOOO! BURN! SNAP! FUCKING BURNCITY, POPULATION: HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN! Yes, it simply blows our minds and rock-hard pecs how classy we are. We're a regular Roy McGillicuddy over here.
Second, this story is so obviously a ploy to try to get 13 year old boys to come see a film they would never see unless they accidently wandered in thinking it was the theater where Transformers was screening (that's next door, you fucking idiot. I swear to God, 13 year old boys have the mental capacity of the average Shrimpjaw reader). I can see it now...
Billy P: "Oh my God Bobby, did you hear that Sienna Miller and Anakin Skywalker actually, you know, mash their dong and taco together in this new movie?"
Bobby (and rest of world): "Who's Sienna Miller?"
This fucking story...Christ, it's like all those video game myths that were flying around when everyone was eight years old; "Hey, if you enter this code, you can see up Princess Toadstool's skirt when she jumps", "Did you know there are Nudalities in MK2! I swear, man, I saw Kitana's boobz!"
Third, we totally banged out Sienna Miller and she wasn't even that good. We'd choose the nanny too. Well, actually we did choose the nanny too, it just happens we chose her at the same time we were teaching Sienna a whole new meaning to the phrase "Boned by El Shrimpjaw". We won't even mention if the Brazilian National Swimsuit Team was there or not (SHRIMPNOTE - THEY WERE).
Also, this is just a friendly reminder; Brandy is a murderer. That is all.