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Brad Pitt devastated after break-up, according to
many women he's now begun fucking
Actor Brad Pitt, who recently announced his separation from actress wife Jennifer Aniston, has been agonizing over the breakdown of what once seemed to be a storybook marriage, according to much of the ass he's been tagging this week.
"I've never seen Brad like this," said one anonymous friend who has known Pitt for almost seven years and now finally, finally finally gets to fuck him. "How often do you see the minority party in a three-on-one cry? OK, well how about when it's a man?"
Although tabloids are reporting that Aniston felt threatened by the close friendship that developed on the set of a recent film co-starring Pitt and actress Angelina Jolie, Pitt maintains that he did not begin relentlessly monkey-fucking Jolie until the night the separation was announced to the public.
"Brad's friends know that he wants to have children but Jen's been doing more films and wasn't ready to settle down," claimed Marge Smallwood of Omaha who doesn't know Pitt but has every intention of getting impregnated should they ever copulate when next the actor gets lost in Omaha and winds up on her doorstep while her grandchildren are away.
"Nobody knows what Brad is going through except Jen and the reports filtering down to me indicate that he hopes to reunite with his wife after this trial separation," Pitt's publicist Michael Channing said, while, across town in Pitt's self-designed mansion, Channing's ex-wife tossed Pitt's salad as Channing's college-aged daughter simultaneously worked the sac and scowled at the model patiently waiting in the bedroom doorjamb.
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Pinochet jumps bail in last-ditch effort to bring 'real' human-rights violator to justice
Chilean authorities have
confirmed that former military dictator Augusto Pinochet has been
leading them on a wild chase through the Santiago underground.
"Pinochet has always maintained that the junta and all human rights
violations under his 17-year regime were actually perpetrated by a
mysterious one-armed man," explained Juan Guzman, the judge who granted
the deposed dictator's bail at 2 million pesos.
Since skipping out on his bail, Pinochet has left a trail of clues
leading from the Chilean ghettos to the ivory towers of industry.
"He's always one step ahead of us," scowled Gerardo Sandoval, Santiago's
loose-cannon cop who doesn't always play by the rules. "There have
been a few action-packed chases but somehow he always manages a daring
last-minute escape."
As the thrill-a-minute chase continues, Sandoval is slowly closing
in on his adversary.
"It won't be long now," beamed a hopeful Sandoval. "He's going to
slip up sooner or later."
Repeatedly, Pinochet has contacted Sandoval by phone to clue him in
on the mystery he's unraveling. "I've made it abundantly clear that
I don't care," stated a troubled Sandoval, adding, "He's playing a
deadly game of cat and mouse."
Early reports that singer/performer
Henry Rollins' suffered a fit of conniptions, a coronary and
the birth of a cow in Asheville after interacting with a computerized
checkout device were false. The performer actually had "a total
stroke," according to Mission-St. Joseph's hospital staff.
"By the time medical help arrived to the Merrimon Ingles, Mr.
Rollins' pulse rate was 240 beats a minute and his screaming
was upsetting children and adults alike," Dr. Banner said from
the intensive care unit. "Mr. Rollins is now in a stable but
highly agitated condition."
Mr. Rollins' stroke followed a brief but entertainingly sarcastic
and often profound rant directed at the checkout device.
"The third time Mr. Rollins' needed my assistance, he said,
'Good thing they're saving $5 an hour by replacing the cashier
with a fucking machine,'" said Meagan Stiles, who supervises
four self-scans from her centralized observation station. "Then
he smiled real weird and said, 'That way another $5-an-hour
employee can drop whatever the fuck it is they now do with all
their free time and help my ass out every ten seconds.'"
Rollins employed the use of a four-minute spontaneous monologue
to work himself up into "an absolute lather." Subjects broached
during his check-out aisle monologue to nobody in particular
were: technology, customer service, the culture of hate and
its relation to self-destruction, his acting career as ironic
device and people who can kiss his ass.
Within minutes however, Mr. Rollins' jabbing observations shifted
to his total destruction of three Ingles self-scans and the
pushing over of an SUV in the parking lot before suffering a
severe stroke.
Customer Tiffany Goad was standing in line behind Rollins, who
was in town to deliver a spoken word performance.
"None of his bar codes were scanning right and he started going
off about the Industrial Revolution," Goad said. "When he realized
he had to weigh his own produce, I thought he was going to have
a stoke. And indeed he did."
Rollins' publicist, Penny Guyon, insisted that the performer
did not, contrary to medical analysis, have a stroke.
"Due to Henry's healthy lifestyle, he did not have a stroke,"
Guyon said. "He just got worked up and fell over from the weight
of his own neck."
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