For magazines dated June 1, 2009
Before I get started - this has got to be the laziest holiday-week issue of a magazine evah. If they hadn't bothered to write anything...they'd have had a better story than this. It's cobbled together based on the imagination of Star's "writers" and bullshit from OuttaTouch. Yes, that's right, Star was so lazy they don't even attempt to pretend this isn't a direct rip-off of the OuttaTouch story...
ANGIE CATCHES BRAD WITH JEN: The Explosive Confrontation
Jealous Angie freaks out after walking in on Brad and his ex in the middle of an intimate chat - and now she's threatening to leave if he doesn't ditch Jen!
By the usual skaggettes - Suzanne Rosdeba, Casey Brennan, Heidi Parker and Jennifer Pearson
It will never end. (Sidebar: No, Star is NOT referring to their incessant fake Brangie stories.) Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston just can't quit each other, and it's drive Angelina Jolie crazy! (Sidebar: I guess it would be mean of Star to tell the truth - that X will never stop pimping her career on Brad & Angie's backs...)
The drama in Hollywood's most famous triangle just got nastier after Angie nailed Brad talking to his ex-wife, Jen, in the middle of the night. (Sidebar: PT EXCLUSIVE! I can exclusively reveal to you that a "close family member" has given PT the scoop of a lifetime! What I can reveal to you is that the "nailing" involved a toy phone, Brad pretending to talk to X while handcuffed to the bed, nekkid except for a striped tie similar to the one X wore on the GQ cover (which he borrowed from Pax and hopes to return, washed and stainless, without Pax knowing Daddy borrowed it), Angie in a black leather bustier and thong, her hair a mass of curls tumbling down her back, wearing fishnet stockings with a black leather garter belt, Christian Louboutin 6" stiletto fuck-me kicks and brandishing a whip while purring, "Someone's been a bad, bad boy, now haven't they? Has Bradley been a bad, bad boy? Does Bradley want Mama to show him what happens to bad, bad boys? Does Bradley want to show Mama how sorry he is for being such a bad, bad boy? Tell Mama how Bradley is going to make it up to her for being such a bad, bad boy...") (PS - I started to say Brad was wearing a diaper, but that's just so been there, done that and played out...)
In early May, Brad was in the kitchen of the family's rented Long Island, NY home after all six kids had gone to sleep when - surprise! - Angie came home from the set of her movies Salt a few hours earlier than expected, and he was busted. (Sidebar: Wow. Apparently Star's "insider" isn't as "inside" as my insider. Boy...Candace Trunzo is gonna be soooooo pissed when she finds out about MY scoop!)
"She hard him say, 'Relax, Jen. Everything will be OK,'" a family insider tells Star. "Angie totally flipped! She slammed her hand on the counter and stormed out of the room." Brad quickly ended the call and ran after his livid lover. (Sidebar: Every week I read this shit and shake my head that there are really people gullible enough to believe Brad, Angie and even X give people a word-by-word accounting of what was said...and then continue talking to the people who are literally SELLING them out to the tabs. It takes an especially low IQ to believe this drivel.) But the battle was only beginning. "Angie said she felt betrayed and disgusted," the insider continues. "She told Brad right then and there, 'It's her or me!' Brad shot back, 'You talk to your exes - why can't I? (Sidebar: Not to put too fine a point on it, but maybe...just maybe...it's because JLM and BBT aren't stalking the two of them the way X is? Could just be me though...) She's just a friend and needed some advice.' But Angie didn't care. She told Brad, "Enough with Jennifer!'" (Sidebar: Yeah. "A little advice." That's how it always starts. First the ho needs a little advice, then you dodge her calls for a few years and the next thing you know she's boiling Viv's stuffed rabbit and leaving messages on your voice mail claiming, "I will NOT be ignored, Brad!")
TEXT MESSAGES TOO!
This isn't the first time Angelina has caught Brad, 45, communicating with Jen, 40. As Star reported in August 2008 when Jen was heartbroken by her first split with ex-boyfriend, John Mayer, Brad consoled her during a compassionate phone call. (Sidebar: For those of you scratching your heads - it was while the Pitts were in France after the twins' birth. Star claimed X called to whine to Jane about The Urinator not wanting to pee on her anymore and Jane didn't want to hear that shit and wondered how X had even gotten her new phone number and why X couldn't take a hint after Jane had changed her phone number 93 times over the 3 previous years, so she gave the phone to Brad and made Brad talk to X because it was his damned fault form getting involved with X and giving her a reason for having to dodge X in the first place. Of course the Star didn't exactly put it like that...but that's basically how it shakes out.) The former marrieds have been in touch ever since. and multiple sources tell Star (Sidebar: "Multiple sources" = The Sun, Daily Mirror, News Of the World, Grazia and OuttaTouch.) the lines of communication between them have really been heating up lately, and Angie, 33, is going nuclear. (Sidebar: Puh-leeze. The only lines that are heating up are the lines of coke X is doing off her cigarette lighter!)
Shortly before the late-night phone call, Angie read multiple texts on Brad's phone that he'd secretly sent to the Management star. "Brad was in the shower and his phone was in the bedroom," another family friend tells Star. "He got a message, and Angie was in the room and read it. It was from Jen, asking how his day was and if he wanted to get together sometime for lunch." (Sidebar: Somebody shoot me now so I don't have to finish this report. Let me see if I have this straight - X sent Brad a text asking how his day was and does he want to do lunch sometime? Although I think X is just about the most desperate and pathetic slag on the planet - even I doubt she'd be stupid enough to be calling/texting Brad and asking him out to lunch. That's like sleeping with a guy on the first date and wondering why he doesn't call you the next day. Oh wait...she's done that, too, so pretend like she's not a big slut for a sec. There's no way Little Miss Insecure would be calling up the man who left skidmarks on her forehead after he ran over her to get to Angie and asking him out to lunch. Just not gonna happen. Especially not with Angie and six kids in the picture. One little raised eyebrow from Angie and X is back on the beach with Norman screaming at the ocean and crying in her Dirty 'Ritas. And if that didn't work, then Angie would just send Z to get her daddy. Z would put on her little pouty face and Brad would melt faster than the ice in X's Stoli.)
ANGIE ON THE WARPATH
Angry Angie also found two messages on Brad's phone that he had sent to Jen, telling her that he missed talking to her and that he and Angie were going through a really rough patch. (Sidebar: Woo-hoo! Once again my "insider" has come through with an EXCLUSIVE scoop for you guys! My insider has been lucky enough to obtain a word for word copy of the 2 messages Angie found on Brad's phone:
Message #1: "Jen, Brad here. Just wanted to let you know. I got your 7,942,641 calls over the last 4 years and nearly 6 months. I really miss talking to you, too...about like I miss not having a red hot railroad spike shove up my ass for 2 hours, taken out, reheated and re-inserted for another 2 hours. Missing talking to you is right up there with missing having to wipe your vomit off the bathroom floor after you've been a 36 hour coke-pot-booze-ciggie bender. Oops...gotta go. Mad has Paxie in a headlock and is giving him his first nuggie!"
Message #2: "Hey Jen...it's Brad again. I hung up rather abruptly - that darn Maddox... Anyway...I still had something I needed to tell you. Angie and I are going through a bit of a rough patch right now, so enough of your bullshit, 'kay? Angie's working crazy hours on her summer blockbuster for next year and my balls are so blue I can barely take a whiz without severe muscle cramps! I'm telling you...my shit is BACKED UP! I'll be glad when this shoot is over. Two days alone at Cannes barely took the edge off. When her movie wraps my folks are going to take the kids and I'm taking Angie on a long, long, LOOOOOOONNNNGGGGGG weekend of 'Mommy/Daddy Time'...so if you see video of Angie limping in a few weeks...ignore it. She heels really quickly and is such trooper! Oh fuck! Gotta go again...now Shi and Z are making Mad play Barbies with them. He hates that girlie shit...No! Mad...don't tear that arm off!"
...at which point Brad had to hang up and go rescue Shiloh favorite doll...)
"Angie came into the bathroom and threw the phone, breaking it," the friend continues. Angie was crying, the friend adds, and told Brad that he's the father of six children - you know the drill, name and ages) - and he'll have to end any kind of relationship with his ex-wife. (Sidebar: I'm scratching my head as to why having 6 kids is a pre-requisite for not talking to X. You'd think the fact that she's the world's biggest tool would be enough of a reason...) But even though Angie's on the warpath, Brad and Jen met face-to-face in NYC on April 23. According to one report, her visited her on the NYC set of her film The Baster, and they rode in Brad's SUV, chatting over a cup of coffee. (Sidebar: Pathetic. You know your story is lame when you're citing the competition...who you KNOW made up their story...the same way you make up your stories every week. Instead of selling this issue, Star should have handed it out to the homeless to use as insulation for the cardboard box houses...and even that's too good a use for this shit.)
And while Brad and Angie are traveling to France for the Cannes Film Festival, it will still be tough for Brad to cut the cord, sources tell Star, especially since he likes to drunk-dial Jen late at night. (Sidebar: BBBBBWWWWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I can't believe Star didn't hire The Amazing Kreskin to inform them that Brad, while in France, would drop his Blackberry in the toilet, and therefore be offline while at Cannes, ergo he would be unable to "drunk-dial" X. And one other thing - Star stole this "drunk-dial" bit from a story last year after The Urinator dumped X the first time. Back when she was pimping misManagement at the TIFF The Sun said X was drunk-dialing The Urinator begging him to finish out his contract. Er, I meant, take her back, of course. Stealing from the likes of OuttaTouch is bad enough...but The Sun? That's a whole different kind of pathetic.) Making matters worse, Brad will film his new movie, Moneyball: The Art of Winning on Unfair Game, in California this summer while Angie and the kids stay in the south of France! (Sidebar: As. Fucking. If. Even if Brad hadn't talked about their 3-day rule at Cannes, at what point in the last 4+ years has Brad and Angie been separated from each other, let alone their kids, for more than 7 consecutive days? Yet, even if Brad and Angie were having problems, does the Star actually think Brad would schedule a movie for the summer, when school is out of session and while his children are half a world away in France? Double. As. Fucking. If.)
"He's been contacting Jen a lot lately, despite Angie's jealousy," says a source. "They have had several late night conversations, and Brad enjoys their long chats, especially after he's been drinking. Jennifer takes his calls and listens attentively to his problems. She still cares about him and told him she always will." (Sidebar: It just so happens that PT has ANOTHER exclusive! Yes, that's right - my "insider" who's...well...inside...accidentally-on-purpose overheard one of Brad & Jen's convo's because Brad, in his drunken state, accidentally hit the speaker phone button. Thankfully my "source" has a photographic memory with total recall! Isn't that an amazing coincidence?
The conversation she...er, my "source"...overheard started when Angie was working late on the Salt set one night. Brad had a few drinks, not enough to be declared an alcoholic, cuz, really...what harm could a dozen or so Heinekens do after spending 18 hours alone with 6 kids under the age of 8? Well...18 hours minus the 8 hours they were in school, the 2 hours worth of "time-outs" for Pax, the 4 hours worth of naps for Viv & Knox, the 2 hours worth of naps for Shi, Z and Pax, and the 2 hours Mad spent speaking French with the nanny while Brad scratched head and said, "Huh?" ever two words. Other than that...it was pretty much 18 straight hours alone with 6 kids under age 8.
Anyliar - so there's Brad and his Heinies and he felt the need to reach out to X. Brad took one last gulp of his beer, dialed X's number - okay, actually he had to dial it about 8 times because the numbers on the phone kept re-arranging themselves. As he's waiting for X to pick up Brad scratches his belly...then his chin...and then because he's a guy and he's alone...his balls...burps...loudly...and just because no one's around to hear him be gross...burps again, even louder, cracks himself up and starts laughing...just then...an answer on the other end of the line...
X's answering machine: Hello, you have reached the house of award winning actress and movie star Jennifer Aniston-Pitt...er...I mean Jennifer Anistoniakisisisis. Jennifer Aniston-Pitt was my stage name plus my married name, but nobody could pronounce my real name so my dad, years and years and years ago - way before I was born, I swear! - changed our name to something pronounceable by non-Greek speaking people...which if you think about it is just about everyone in the world really because the population of Greece is only a few million and once people moved away from there they didn't speak the language anymore because there's just too many i's, a's, s's and k's in the names. Oh. My. God! I couldn't even say my real name until I was almost 18, so just imagine how it must be for non-Greeks...which I consider myself anyway because it's only my father who's Greek and he left my mother when I was still a child and then I was raised by that horrible woman and she kept telling me I was "unbeautiful"! The nerve of her! She's got fake red hair and is friends with that old gossip bag Cyndy Adams! If that doesn't tell you what kind of bad taste my mother has then there's that time she wrote a book, about herself or so she claimed, but I know it was really just an excuse to make money off my fame. MY. FAME. NOT. HER'S. MINE! But did she understand my problem with her book when I asked her not to write about me? Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo! The selfish bitch just went right aheand whined to the world about her broken marriage and my father remarrying and not wanting me to live with him full-time...well, actually, that wasn't my dad's fault because he's a real sweetheart...or at least he was after I got to know him when I was 23 and moved to LA to become a big huge, honkin' movie star and he was just doing this pissy old soap opera that he'd been doing forever cuz he has no damned ambition, not like I do...plus, I was just mortified when I was in high school and the other kids saw his name in the credits and then saw my name...I mean my real name not my stage name...although...I was using my real name and my father was using his stage name so I'm not sure how they put it together that my dad was Victor Kiriakis...but when they did, then all the girls started asking me for scoops and wanted to know who The Pawn was and if Victor was going to run off to Greece with Diana and force her to marry him or if Roman, who turned out to not be Roman but that was years later when the original actor who played Roman came back to the show and then suddenly the replacement Roman wasn't Roman anymore, he was John and then my dad's storyline got really weird and convoluted...but that was okay because by that time I'd graduated high school and moved in with a friend of mine because I was determined to be a huge, huge, huge, mega, huge movie star...but I had to move to LA to do that because who's ever heard of a mega, huge movie star who lives in New York City? You can't do that when all the movie studios and connections and best agents and publicists are in California, so I moved to Beverly Hills...okay, not really Beverly Hills at first. It was further south than that...but not Compton south because...well, WHITE GIRL! I'm not stupid, ya know! And besides, my dad said he could put in a good word for me at NBC and it would be much easier to get work if I didn't have to give my agent a slum address. So of course I moved into the most expensive apartment my dad could afford for me because...well...HE OWED ME for never being there while I was growing up. Okay, never is kind of harsh, make that "hardly ever"...but I"m not mad or anything because I ended up being a much huger, and more importantly, gigantnormously richer than he could ever get working on some stupid little soap opera where he wasn't even THE STAR like I was on MY TV SHOW! Plus, I married way better than my dad did....and for 6 1/2 glorious years I was the most envied woman in the world because I was Mrs. William Bradley Pitt! Me, little Jenny Anistoniakasisiasiaskiasisisisis from the block! But, alas, that gravy train got derailed by this skank ass, sleazoid, bitch whose name will never cross my perfectly straight - even if they are a little pointy - bleached white teeth! Oh crud! I am NOT going to cry. Again. I refuse to cry one more tear over that brazen hussy! Who cares that my beautiful Bradley and I had one foot on a banana peel and the other over the Grand Canyon! It's the principle, dammit! Oh, fuck it! I AM GOING TO CRY! NORMAN! I WANT MY NORMAN!!! Norman, where you are, baby? Don't run from mama! You know how mama hates that. Norman! Norman Anistoniaskicakaiasissisasi you get back in here this instant! Goddammit Norman! I'm talking to you! Don't you dare go out that doggy door! Don't you...Fuck! Now I've got to go search for my most precious baby! Whoever you are leave me a message at the beep and I'll get back to you...NNNNNOOOOOORRRRRMMMMAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!"
Brad (burping loudly): Golden, Golden, Golden...Norman's still too fast for ya, huh? Oh wait...shit...that's not really you is it? It's your damned answering machine. Again. Still dodging my calls because you know I'm going to shitcan your latest play, huh? Just like when we were married. Anytime I needed you...I got your goddamn answering machine. What the fuck is it that you find so fucking fascinating about this motherfucking answering machine that every fucking time I call I have to leave a fucking message? Never mind. Just forget I even fucking asked. In fact, forget I even fucking called. Wait - don't forget yet...I almost fucking forgot why I fucking called you. Tell your fucking PR bitch that if he leaks one more fucking story about you and me "texting" each other, meeting up on your set or "chatting" in my SUV - over fucking Starbuck's, nonetheless, when you know damned good and well I prefer Dunkin' Donuts' fucking coffee!, me supposedly fucking "drunk-dialing" you, you being fucking BFFs with my mother or even fucking hinting that I might be interested in you or any-fucking-thing you have to say, so help me God I will give one hell of a fucking exclusive to People magazine and spill all those fucking secrets you don't want America fucking knowing about. Two fucking words for ya - Marky Mark's fucking cousin. Actually...that was 4 fucking words, but you're so fucking stupid and jacked up on coke you probably didn't fucking notice. And one other fucking thing - Never. Fucking. Mention. My. Angie's. Fucking. Name. Or. Any. Of. My. Children's. Names. Especially. My. Princess. Zahara. Again. If you do, by the time Angie gets done kicking your fucking ass there won't be enough of your fucking face left for you to ever fucking "try" botox ever again. Please don't ever fucking attempt to fucking contact me again. I've fucking changed all the fucking phone numbers for myself and every fucking member of my fucking family. Get a fucking family of your own and fucking leave mine the fuck alone! BTW - I dare you to fucking save THIS FUCKING TAPE for one of your fucking beach-crying-moon-wailing-sticking-pins-in-voodoo-dolls walks down fucking Former Boyfriends and "My Husband" Memory Lane. I'm fucking outta here...again.")
Photos of Angie, Brad and X - Caption: Angie flipped when she saw "Golden," Brad's nickname for Jen, pop up on his cell phone, and the number was from a LA area code! "Angie accused Brad, and he came clean," says a source. "He told her he talks to Jen - a lot!" (Sidebar: "A lot". Please quantify "a lot," Star. And please qualify "Jen". Angie's stylist is also named "Jen". Who knows how many other women named "Jen" that Brad knows.")
Also, this is just as an FYI on how low the tabloid world will sink for sales in these hard economic times, which really aren't all that hard because if they were these rags would already be out of business instead of nailing and clawing Angie's back trying to ride her to a profit...
Anyscumbags - That denizen of accuracy, truth and honor, The Globe, has forged an alliance with Mr. IUC. They have started quoting some of his claims the last few weeks in their rag. For those who don't know, Mr. IUC is writing a book on Brad and Angie and he says it will be out this fall. Sound like a threat, don't it? So far it's just stupid Brad stuff and The Globe has NOT repeated, yet, some of his ridiculous Angie stories. Last week it was an old stale story on Mike Tyson threatening to kill Brad when he was schtumping Robin Givens. This week, in a sidebar to their Obama's "gay scandal" cover story, is Mr. IUC's claim that Brad is in alcohol rehab. Brad is apparently smart enough to choose a rehab facility that gives furloughs for Cannes...where he was spotted...well...drinking...with Angie...and Angie didn't appear to be bum rushing his liquor consumption...but that's what enablers do, isn't it? Enable?
Unfortunately it doesn't look like Mr. IUC is going to go away quietly, so I sincerely hope Brad & Angie are keeping an eye on this creep and find something they can sue his socks off over.
- ▼ May (5)