Yesterday, in a post about #Robstenisunbroken, Kathleen mentioned Poot Lovato. I have been giggling about it for a good 12 hours and don’t want to stop. #freepoot


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Amy Schumer got married? Ok then.


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I really like Julianne Hough as a redhead. 


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Chelsea Handler is developing her own marijuana strain and if she doesn’t call it White Girl Confidence what is even the point. 


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In today’s world, if you want someone to know you dislike them, you block them on social media. The late-1800s equivalent of that is turning your gloves inside out.

TraceMe is a new social media platform that wants to “bring fans closer to what they love.” Like most other celebrity apps, it promises exclusives through photos and videos that revolve around fashion, beauty, performances and community (it launched with Ciara; Russell Wilson is a co-founder of the company). In the press release she’s quoted as saying, “You guys know that I tend to be private with a lot of things, but with TraceMe I can have a genuine, unfiltered connection with you all.” But are people hungry for Ciara exclusives? For an app like this to work, there has to be a huge demand for this kind of content. 


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My favourite part of the caption is “every hurri that caned.” (Also is it possible that Josh Brolin is more Matthew McConaughey than Matthew McConaughey and he just hasn’t found his succinct, “alright, alright, alright” yet?)


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I probably won’t watch the last Fifty Shades movie until it’s available on demand (or more realistically, playing one Sunday afternoon four years from now). But I love reading reviews of Freed, like Sarah’s take on the weirdest insult in film history. Vulture spoke to a gynecologist about the logistics of the sex scenes and the ethics of a doctor chasing a woman down the street to give her a birth control shot. Seriously this movie sounds bonkers. (Read the Vulture piece here.)