Uh oh, everyone panic: the temperature outdoors is not cold. Repeat: it is not cold outside. Well, gee, the only reasonable reaction to this state of affairs is to run a huge unwieldy power-sucking machine which will use massive amounts of energy in order to return our indoor space to its natural state—frigidity. Read more »
The above is a (NSFW) scene from the upcoming film adaptation of On the Road. It is the first time in which we the public are privy to Kristen Stewart's boobs. Also the first we see her giving two gentlemen handjobs at the same time. We did it everybody.
Uh oh, everyone panic: the temperature outdoors is not cold. Repeat: it is not cold outside. Well, gee, the only reasonable reaction to this state of affairs is to run a huge unwieldy power-sucking machine which will use massive amounts of energy in order to return our indoor space to its natural state—frigidity.
Twitter has been acting up all day. It went down for more than an hour at around 11am, came up, but is out now as I write this. (Update: Now it's back up, and Twitter says it was a "cascade bug") This is bad. If you are anything like us at Gawker, more than five minutes without a firehose of bullshit dousing your brain leaves an unsettling silence, filled only by the distant wooshing sound of inevitable death.
We at Gawker have warned you previously that the New York Times Style section exists solely to introduce you to society's biggest shitheads, and yesterday's profile of the Brant Brothers is no exception. At this point, it feels as if the Times is going out of its way to troll us all. No one at that paper could possibly think these two teenagers—who have yet to contribute anything meaningful to society—are inherently interesting. A much more reasonable explanation is that someone at the Times Style section sits down every week and is like, "Oh hey, how can we piss off everyone this week? I KNOW! Let's profile a pair of privileged dipshits!" Look at this fucking article:
It's been 10 years since Tweet's hit masturbation ode "Oops (Oh My)," with little chart activity in between ("Call Me" went Top 40, so she isn't technically a one-hit wonder, but still...). In another era, there would be no Tweet to speak of a decade later, but thanks to the magic of the Internet, she remains a presence who's taken to releasing a series of barely commercial R&B songs accompanied by the #TweetTuesdays hashtag. These kicked off with an impressively sung remake of Aretha Franklin's "Day Dreaming." The third in the series, "C 4eva," is below. Beatless but propelled by rhythmic cricket sounds, the song finds Tweet oozing delicately over an acoustic guitar. It's equal parts Deniece Williams and Aaliyah. It's so ethereal, it's practically ambient. It sounds like it blew right past the shackles of pop aspiration.
At a House Judiciary Subcommittee hearing held today to conduct Drug Enforcement Administration oversight, Rep. Jared Polis (D-CO) — a major proponent of marijuana legalization — tried for several minutes to get an answer from DEA administrator Michele Leonhart on the relative severity of marijuana compared to other Schedule I narcotics.
When Adam Carolla sat down for an interview with the New York Post to promote his new book, it was probably supposed to be a no-brainer—at least in the easygoing, non-clusterfucky way. Carolla used to host a Comedy Central show about taps, tits and trampolines, and the Post pretty much targets the same demographic, with bonus exploding-Hajji content thrown in.
29-year-old Vardan Aslanyan led police on an hour-long high-speed chase from Burbank to Hollywood last Friday, during which he collided with three vehicles, causing one to flip over.
This week sees the debut of a fascinating new documentary, Kumaré, in which a director from New Jersey, Vikram Gandhi, goes undercover as a guru and ends up gaining a following through his deception. It's something of a social experiment and you can check out the video above for more background on the premise, or read the synopsis below, courtesy of the film's official site:
One of the most blatant injustices in our nation's drug laws (which are themselves an injustice) has always been the disparity in sentencing between those who were caught selling crack and those who were caught selling powder cocaine. Crack sentences have always been much, much harsher. (Racism, by scaremongering "tough on crime" politicians? Yes, it's racism by scaremongering "tough on crime" politicians.) A 2010 law finally brought crack sentences down to earth, very relatively speaking. And now: a bit of good news, for crack stragglers.
Today was Big Decision Day at the Supreme Court, and though we'll have to wait until next week for the long-awaited healthcare decision, the justices threw us a bone by finding the Federal Communications Commission's indecency standards unconstitutionally vague [pdf]. Get ready for some hardcore broadcast teevee fuckin'!
In newly released footage recorded not long after George Zimmerman's deadly altercation with Trayvon Martin, the self-appointment neighborhood watch captain can be seen reenacting his version of the events that unfolded the night he shot the 17-year-old to death.
By the time Lana del Rey released her album Born to Die in January, the discourse around her had swirled hard enough that critics merely had to push back for an angle. Many of the reviews served as backlash to the backlash regarding her persona, her inadequacy as a performer, and her deeply frivolous lyrics. Some of the best (/-paid) thinkers about pop music responded to her antagonist, the Internet, to say that it didn't matter if she changed her name from Lizzy Grant and obscured the real her with "gangster Nancy Sinatra" posturing. The biggest sham in question wasn't del Rey but the entire notion of "authenticity."
That's what Kim's ex-husband Kris Humphries allegedly told his ex-girlfriend Myla Sinanaj.
