Looks like Emily Brill couldn't get into the Beatrice last weekend.

Thanks for the quasi-crotch shot of the old gal in the pink skirt clutching the beer to her forehead. At least she's wearing her support hose.

Hillary's Base Reacts To Her Loss In North Carolina.

Oh no, I forgot Mom's birthday again!

Two Girls, one 1970's era trash can.

I never get invited to the fun parties!

The WASP answer to Bar Mitzvah Disco.

Yawn! This same photo was the open caption contest on Dlisted six weeks ago.

What's Old Jason Preston doing in the WowOWow boardroom?

Mabel had been feeling ill all day, and just as those Harvey Wallbangers started coming up Edith heard Martin baning on the door. Arthur girded himself for conflict and began muttering, "I will not fear..."

I know without a doubt that guy drives a '78 Camaro Z-28...and it ROCKS!

"Mom sure can't hold her liquor like she used to."

"Hey Marge, fix me another Tom Collins. My Schlitz is runnin' low"

Bugger. I gotta hang out at the Gawk Office parties more.

@valarmorghulis: banging you fumble-fingered nitwit.

@StonedAndDethroned: Dlisted? Yawn!

Wow, I'd forgetten all about that Carol Burnett Show sketch!

Harvey Korman looked so young in those days.

Enid knew it was a bad idea to hire Mrs. Nusbaum's son to dance at the monthly meeting of Daughters of the Bataan Death March. But now it was becoming obvious he didn't know how to operate his breakaway pants and some of the girls were getting woozy from White Russians and Mai Tais.

@nottobeconfusedwith: Funny!@StonedAndDethroned: Yawning can be dangerous around here. Just something to keep in mind.

If this isn't in Florida, I'd be very surprised.

@ClevelandSteamier: Not so fast, dude. At least D-listed has the good sense to gratuitously publish pictures of hot semi-nekked men on a daily basis. Gawker could learn a thing or two about pleasing their core audience.

In their final music video together, Robert Palmer and the girls failed to recapture that old "Addicted to Love" mojo.

Nothing Fazes Leo DiCaprio, Bitches.

Is the lady with the beer to her head also vomiting blood into a trash can?

"...and this undated photo makes it quite clear that the Ralph Nader presidential campaign doesn't take itself too seriously."

@In Other News...: heeheehee (You are so good at these!)

I'm pretty sure this is from an old David LaChapelle series. It's, you know, posed. Sadly.

@Helman: "...and at Sunset Assisted Living, We Let OUR Seniors Do Whatever and WHOEVER They Want!"

"Oh THERE'S the beef."

Nope, I'm going to wait for those Kristian Laliberte 'fight' photos to surface here before I get to decide which are more amusing.

Oh, wow. No.

I think I got some on me.

Saturday night, 2058:
Star magazine editor-at-large emeritus Julia Allison and handbag designer Mary Rambin at the Laughing Jackalope Motel in Las Vegas.

This pic embodies the reason my 70's childhood was so messed up! It doesn't, however, explain the last three decades.

Maybelle spits; Sadie swallows.

This is the party in New Bedford in 1974 where Barbara Walters and Edward Brooke finally sealed the deal.

And to think this picture was taken right around the time Wintour was fucking Marley! Or, was it the other way around?

The cast of The Real World 1976 unites to kick Martha out of the house.

Betty: "You can't just keep drinking this way, Martha. Just look at yourself! They've already kicked you out of one bar! That's it, I'm done. I'm over it."

Martha: "You don't know what I've been through! [sobbing uncontrollably] I have an eating disorder, my boyfriend abused me, I was on Meth, and I used to strip..."

Joey: "Martha, dude. You ruined my best shirt."

@PennyJane: You are correct.

@DonPardoCalrissian: In response to Barbara Walters' question, "If you were a twee, what kind of twee would you be?" Ed Brooke replied, "I'd be a huge, banging the shit out of old yenta journalists with speech impediments tree." Whereupon Babs lowered her Underalls and the opening strains of Beethoven's fifth were heard.

Photography. A magical medium. For instance, did you really know what Aunt Thelma was doing in Boca Raton one glorious Friday night in 1964? The "accidental poke" from a local gasoline station attendant named Billy? It was more than that. The reverse peristalsis into the waste receptacle that forever sealed "Vomiting Vivian"'s nomenclatural fate? The top-shelf liquor collection, prized by your uncle Ted, that one night disappeared into a burlap sack, hurried out of the china cabinet and into a room in the Stark Feather Inn on Viola Drive? The carpet, said the housekeeping staff, was smartly saved from a terrible fate. The sheets, the pillows, the headboard, all imbued with the scent of sex, sweat and geriatry. The ceiling fan which blew coolly onto several naked buttocks thrusting up and down into the tepid, smoke-tinged air. Vivian, Billy and Thelma were the loudest that night, said the couple in Room 215, the lady in Room 219, the teenaged acoustic band in Room 117, and the visitors from Abu Dhabi in Room 317. Security guards visited several times that evening: the clatter of billy clubs and tin shields and ruffled shirts would cause the moans to pause; the banging to cease; the groans to subside. To the door, the guards would press their ears, then gently walk away. And the fucking, pure fucking, would resume. It was clear Vivian was happy: this was her birthday gift. But was she jealous of Thelma? Perhaps, because it was all over her that Billy came. An illustrious ejaculation, surpassed only by St. Helens' two decades later, and Washington State was so far away. So Vivian gave Billy no choice: he would have to come again.

Perhaps it was the lime slice she kept under her tongue. "To make it interesting," she said, "and because I want it to hurt a little." Billy delivered once more, and Vivian, usually of the fortitude of the schist that formed Manhattan Island, collapsed. The contents of her aged stomach churned, stirred perhaps by the salty burst: beef stroganoff, a quaff of Pabst, cherry Life Savers bought from the lobby gift shop. Thelma, realizing the great misfortune the carpet was about to suffer, thought to quickly position a trashbin at the foot of the bed. Vivian, doubled over, took a little while. In the meantime, Thelma, a little disgusted, a little emboldened, went to explore the selection of tonic. Billy, done, zipped up, buttoned a few, and noticed the man with the camera.

He toasted.

Thelma saw a friend outside the window.

Vivian hurled.

And the man with the camera, the unwitting artiste, captured a fleeting moment in history, preserving it for no-one in particular but you, my precious child.

Saturday night with the ladies! Who cares what picture we see?
Puking with Aunt Mabel at the Travelodge, Room 4C?

@In Other News...: Magical! You should be a writer. I'd read you.

@In Other News...: A salty burst indeed! That's hilarious- and "nomenclatural fate" is my new fave expression.

@scroll_lock: ha!

@In Other News...: Brilliant. Fucking, brilliant.

@BalknChain: I for one, can hold a Mai Tai in one hand and yank off my breakaways with the other. It's an acquired skill.

Dag burn it gramma! Can't we get one naaaice family photo without ya yakking? I mean, look, ma's in her best tangerneen suit.

@In Other News...: wow..I think I hear angels

@fiveinchtaint:
You think this photo was taken in Florida?

I take it you haven't been to the Pittsburgh area lately.

@In Other News...: Showoff.

@scroll_lock: Underalls have never seemed so erotic.

@In Other News...: "...surpassed only by St. Helens' two decades later, and Washington State was so far away." Speechless. Beautiful. Glowing. Might I also say "true."

"Oh, Dame Edna, I think you're cut off!"

@In Other News...: Leave out, 'my precious child', and you're on the bestseller list, they're making movies with your words, you're fucking movie stars.That's a promise.

@In Other News...: That was beautiful. [Wipes tear from eye.] We are in the presence of greatness.

@PennyJane: Although this just makes me think of James Frey.

@Unfun: BITCH!!

@In Other News...: The cherry Lifesavers. That was the pièce de résistance.

@blakeley: That makes sense. But it can't take away the belly laugh I got when I saw it.

@AndSheSaid: @Unfun: @AndSheSaid: @Calraigh: @DonPardoCalrissian: @BalknChain: @VirusWithShoes: @scroll_lock: @bytememehard:

This picture was worth 452 words.

Olds are the new Brooklyn hispters?

@In Other News...: Those 452 words are worth a commie.

@In Other News...: I like to think I provided at least some inspiration for this beautiful tale of old ladies and ejaculate. If I was not, please don't tell me.

@AndSheSaid: If he doesn't win one for that, I'm executing myself again in protest. HAHA, kidding! Please don't execute me anymore...but seriously, he should win.

This pic will be the basis for a new Felliniesque Vincent Gallo film: Polyester Pandemonium.

It always looked like this at Jack Nicholson's house when he was growing up.

@Helman: Helman, on cloudless days you inspire me to stick my long neck up to the little square window in Gawker's house.

@In Other News...: Awwww.

@In Other News...: Photography. A magical medium. Did you know about Nathan's funeral in Sioux City? February, '66. Esther and Pat and Cousin Francis and me all drove out in the DeSoto and stayed in the Fern Room, as Dottie called it. Though by then all the ferns had died so it just smelled a bit w