Well, the hits just keep on coming. Grease being Paula Deen has not just been dropped from her ham company in the wake of her racist remark scandal. She's also been dumped by Walmart, and now Home Depot, and diabeetus drug company Novo Nordisk. All because she admitted to saying and doing some racist things years ago in a deposition. When will this persecution of Paula Deen end? All she wants to do is peddle terrible food that's terrible for you in a startlingly unapologetic and oblivious manner and none of you will let her, just because she casually admitted to saying and doing racist things during a deposition about routine harassment at one of her restaurants. This has all been blown out of proportion and we should stop. Leave Paula with the few sponsorship deals she has left — there's still Confederated Hog Fat and of course the Smithsonian — and let's all just move on. She's paid her price. We have bigger fish to fry. I mean bigger fish to, like, gently boil in fat-free water and then pair with spinach that's, I dunno, never been looked at before. What's healthy? What is healthy food? I really don't know anymore. [Us Weekly]
Nobody can find James Franco. Does anyone know where James Franco is? Lawyers have been trying to serve him papers in a defamation lawsuit for 136 days, but nobody can get a bead on his whereabouts. I mean, people have seen him, he's not missing missing, but these lawyers can't get him in one place for long enough to hand him these papers. And all because Franco insulted an NYU film professor. That's what this is about, by the way. Franco said bad things about a film professor at NYU, who was his teacher in a class he nearly failed, and now that teacher is suing him for defamation. What is James Franco's life? Forget where is James Franco. Why is James Franco? [Page Six]
Ohhhhhhh god. Here we go. Once again the old Jennifer Aniston love train goes skipping off the rails and crashes into a ditch. As always. We'd heard a little while back that her marriage plans with fiancé Justin Theroux were lightly put on hold because both were very busy. But now the problems seem deeper. There might not be a wedding at all. You see, the lonely lady of the canyons doesn't want to leave Los Angeles, like Theroux wants her to for at least part of the year, and that is causing a rift in the relationship. But you see, Jennifer can't leave Los Angeles! The brown sun feeds her, the smog sustains her, the skinny palm trees are like her bones, the cold deep Pacific a perfect storage container for all her lovelorn sadness. What would Jennifer Aniston do in New York, where Justin wants her to live? It's too busy, too crowded. Where would she stretch out in the terrible sun and languish in all her furious misery? Where in New York could she drive around for hours and hours, wending up through hills, wondering when her giant automobile will skirt its final edge and tip off into the sweet mercy of oblivion? These are Los Angeles things. Jennifer Aniston is a Los Angeles ghost. She cannot move to New York. Because... Oh, because she tried living there and didn't like it because the paparazzi was everywhere and so she and Justin will have to figure this thing out like couples do all the time. OK. That's all. [Radar]
"Miley Cyrus' Fur-Lined Celine Sandals: Are They Worth $910?" No. I mean. No, right? That is the headline of this Us Weekly post and then there are at least a hundred words below it when the simple answer is just no. No, those sandals are not worth $910. No sandal, no shoe, is worth $910. That is absurd. There is so much you could do with $910 that is not buying sandals. It doesn't even have to be good will or charity or anything. That kinda scratch could get you on a plane to Europe in the off season. You could rent a room in Brooklyn, fancy Brooklyn even, for a month. You could buy nine hundred and ten scratch tickets. That is more worth it than some stupid fur sandals. Ugly sandals, I may add. Ugh. Wealth is wasted on the hyper fashion conscious. And it's also wasted on Miley Cyrus. [Us Weekly]
Mayor Michael Bloomberg, dark lord of all Gotham, is expecting his first grandchild. His daughter Georgina, aged 30, is expecting a child with her equestrian husband Ramiro Quintana. Georgina herself is an equestrian, but I'd imagine that will be put on hold until after the baby comes. Seems like a dangerous gig for a pregnant lady. Anyway, El Bloombergo will be a grampa, just in time for the end of his mayorship. No funny tricks this time, no extension of term limits. No sir. He's out. The power must be taken back. And he can go on to a life of being a doting old grampa billionaire. It's the simple life for him for here on out. [Page Six]
Oh good grief. The One Direction lads got more tattoos. More stupid horrible tattoos. Zayn got a tattoo of his girlfriend's face! He's 20 years old! That relationship isn't going to last. And Louis got tattoos of a spider web because he likes Spider-Man and a bomb, because bombs. At this point I'm not even annoyed with them for getting stupid tattoos, I'm annoyed with the tattoo people who look at these kids and say "OK, yup, I will give you more." That's akin to over-serving at a bar except those customers at least won't be drunk forever or else have their drunkenness removed by painful laser surgeries. Stop giving these dopes tattoos, tattoo artists. They're baby people and don't know any better. But you do. You do. [TMZ]
This article is from the archive of our partner The Wire.