Hi, y'all. Do you detect the scent of warm buttery toast, wafting in on a humid breeze from way down South? What you're smelling is the glorious butter-birth of the Official Paula Deen Museum, a tourist attraction recently proposed for Deen's hometown of Albany, Georgia. Just kidding. You're smelling toast because you're having a stroke.

Earlier this month, the Albany Herald revealed that local restauranteur B.J. Fletcher was working alongside Paula Deen's ex-husband Jimmy (Jimmy Deen) to establish a museum dedicated to the Food Network megastar. According to the Herald, tentative plans for a museum have been in the works for over a year now; they recently picked up speed with the acquisition of Deen's childhood home.

Deen, who now lives in Savannah, has already given her blessing to the project, calling it an "incredible honor." She's even offered to outfit the museum with the original furniture her parents kept in her childhood home.

"I still have mama's living room set and daddy's — they had separate rooms later on because daddy had to sleep with a night light on and mama couldn't."

Hmm. That's a little dark. We'll leave it up to the museum docents to explore Paula's father's tortured late-in-life relationship with darkness.

Until the museum is built, devotees can continue to pray to Deen at her altars, located in the "Husky" boys' departments of chain retail establishments.

[Albany Herald // Image via Getty]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.

On Thursday night, three people came one giant leap closer to making their dream of dying alongside Leonardo DiCaprio a reality, when they paid a combined $3.8 million to travel with him into space on a Virgin Galactic voyage.

Given the option, most people would probably prefer to die with Leonardo DiCaprio than without him, because why not? Wouldn’t it be kind of cool to know that your sweaty face was the last thing Leonardo DiCaprio saw before the spark of life faded from his eyes? Maybe, just before he expired, he would tell you some juicy bit of celebrity gossip like “Toby Maguire and Cameron Diaz hate one another, but don’t tell anyone.” If you absolutely have to die, doing it alongside Leonardo DiCaprio is not a bad way to go.

The money, benefitting the amFAR Cinema Against AIDS Charity, was raised in Cannes at an auction emcee’d by Sharon Stone, who is herself an alien. People reports that Stone called Leonardo DiCaprio “the Greater Gatsby,” when thanking him for donating his time, which is just wonderful. What’s Eating Gilbert Great. Greats of New York. Catch Me If You’re Great.

Seats on Virgin Galactic flights normally sell for $200,000 but, then, Leonardo DiCaprio, the man you want strapped in next to you during a space crisis, isn’t usually included. The trips, set to kick off this Christmas, will last for about 2.5 hours, though only about 6 minutes of that time will actually be spent in the weightless environment of space.

[Image via Getty]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.

The New York Post just released this image of America's Darkest Timeline Amanda Bynes, taken in court earlier today. TMZ reports that Bynes told a judge the (alleged) bong she threw out of her window last night was "just a vase." The judge scheduled Bynes' court date for July and released her into a taxi and her gray New York life.

Update: Bynes' wig-less mugshot has been released, revealing her very close cropped natural hair. She's gone full Britney.

[Image by NY Post via Twitter]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.

Welcome to Thatz Not Okay, a regular column in which I school inquiring readers on what is and is not okay. Please send your questions to caity.weaver@gawker.com with the subject "Thatz Not Okay."

In my office, the "executives" gather every morning for coffee and an informal meeting. They take turns bringing in eats—bagels, pastries, etc. After the meeting clears out, the "underlings" are free to come in and grab whatever is left. Sometimes underlings also bring in morning eats for the meeting, myself included.

I brought in some delicious cream puffs from a bakery close to my house. Everyone loved them (naturally)! One of the executives, with whom I'm pretty friendly, asked me where I got them, so I told him. I also mentioned to him that I stop there specifically for that item, and that I've brought them in several times before (for my own staff).

Less than two weeks later, that executive brought MY cream puffs to the meeting! Mind you, he drove about 10 miles out of his way to go to MY bakery. He brought them again today. I know it's a free country and all, but really? I'm SO irked that he took over MY go-to, non-homemade work treat. Is that okay?

Thatz not okay.

This is like a scenario concocted by a preschool teacher to teach her students how to recognize emotions. “A nice person buys your favorite treat and shares some with everyone, including you. Point to the face that shows how you feel.” All of your classmates pointed to the :) face. You pointed to the >:( face. Now they’re all in Pre-K enjoying lightly structured activities like “circle time," and you’re stuck in pre-school vomiting over flash cards.

Sorry some jackass brought in treats that you like.

Just so we're clear, it’s not like this guy stole your family's secret blend of sugars and spices, is now using your recipe to create cream puffs identical to the ones you bake, and is selling them at a profit besides. Your recipe is exchanging money for goods and services. An old family retail trick. Just like Mama used to do.

Surely when you told your coworker the location of the bakery, you must have had some idea that he might, one day, go there himself and buy the cream puffs you praised so highly? Did you think he was just taking a poll of where everyone buys their cream puffs and that he was going to destroy the data once he had collected it? If you wanted to keep the location of the immaculate puffs a secret, you could have said playfully “I can’t tell you that! It’s my little secret.” This would have been mildly annoying, but it’s unlikely he would have pulled down the blinds and tortured you until you spilled.

The fact that he went 10 miles out of his way to get them is pretty outrageous, until you consider the fact that he was traveling by car, not riding his stallion into the night, or crawling over broken glass on his belly like a snake.

If you want your bakery—by the way, how magnanimous of you to allow your personal baker to sell his wares to the peasants; all the serfs in your fiefdom must thank the Lord daily for your charity—to continue churning out the cream puffs you love, a good way to ensure that happens is to help it stay in business. If you were the only person shopping there, their operating costs would quickly outweigh their profits—even if you bought cream puffs from them every day (which you do not). Businesses, even businesses that you like a lot, need more customers than just you.

It’s unlikely that this executive brought a treat to share with everyone to spite you. He didn’t do it so people would spit out the cream puffs you bring in, and whine, “The ones Tom brought were better.” He didn’t do it to steal your super power (the power to locate and purchase cream puffs from this specific bakery).

What you should do at this point is be happy you have a friendly relationship with a superior at work. If the cream puffs have, in your estimation, become less desirable now that they have gone corporate, consider bringing in another treat from what is evidently a delightful little bakery. Your other options are murder or arson.

From: cnjr4fv+d2w20@guerrillamail.com

Subj: tHATS N noT okaY

my best friend's sister makes 86 an hour on the computer. She has been out of a job for 9 months but last month her paycheck was 13265 just working on the computer for a few hours. Go to this web site and read more [URL REDACTED]

Thatz Okay.

There’s nothing inherently shameful about receiving a large paycheck for work you have done. Humility is a virtue; poverty is not. I find nothing offensive about the fact that your best friend’s sister makes 86 an hour on the computer; I am, however, concerned that your preoccupation with the details of her salary has reached the point of obsession.

How is it that you know the amount on your best friend’s sister’s paycheck down to the last digit? Is she giving you this information herself, even though it doesn’t sound like you two are particularly close? Are you rifling through her trash? Is her sister (your best friend) bragging to you about it?

“My son is a doctor. My sister makes 86 an hour on the computer and last month her paycheck was 13265.”

For the record, based on the figures you’ve provided, it would appear that this woman worked normal 8 hour shifts last month, minus a couple personal days for doctor's appointments, vacations, or what have you. She’s not “out of a job.” She has a full-time job, working, as you say, on the computer.

It’s not clear to me whether you’re sharing this information with me because you believe what she’s doing is somehow illegal or because you’re jealous.

If it’s the former, the responsible thing to do is share your concerns with the authorities. You can look up the anonymous tip line of your local police department online; many departments will even allow you to text your tip anonymously, if you’re bad on the phone. You can report an Internet crime to the FBI here. This may be the most relevant option, since your best friend’s sister’s work seems largely computer-based.

However, if the issue is jealousy, my advice is: stop obsessing. Some people make 86 an hour and some people make 7.25 an hour and some people make 200 an hour. That's just how economies work. (I assume we're talking about dollars. If your best friend's sister makes 86 widgets an hour, that sounds like it might be veering into sweatshop territory in which case I would, again, advise you contact the authorities rather than an internet advice column.)

Focus on your own career, not the lives of your friends’ siblings. If you’re unhappy with your job, why not consider pursuing the line of work with which your best friend’s sister has found so much success? You’ve obviously done quite a bit of research into it; go to that website you yourself linked to, to read more. If you’re concerned that her mysterious job (data analysis? Something with Defense?) requires technological skill beyond what you already possess, be proactive. Take a computer class at night. Watch Photoshop tutorials online. Ask your best friend if she might facilitate a meeting between you and her sister so that you can pick her brain for advice on breaking into the field.

What I'm saying is: follow your dreams. Don't waste time gossiping to strangers about these riches; pursue them for yourself. Then maybe one day, years from now, I’ll receive an email from you declaring “I make 86 an hour on the computer. Last month my paycheck was 13265 just working on the computer for a few hours.”

I will delete that email because it is irrelevant to my life but, I mean, good for you.

Submit your "Thatz Not Okay" questions here. Image by Jim Cooke; source photo from Shutterstock.

Revolutionary street artist, self described "actor/Yale Doctoral candidate," and Vice-President of Being the Best Blogger James Franco has recently begun penning film reviews for Vice magazine. Vice has labeled this undertaking "A Few Impressions," probably because reviews serve a clear purpose and "impressions" are whatever you want them to be.

On Thursday, James Franco offered up his impressions of Leviathan, a documentary about the commercial fishing industry described by Gawker's Rich Juzwiak back in March as "a borderline-abstract stream of imagery." An accurate impression of Leviathan would probably entail making a lot of fish and boat sounds with your mouth. For reasons known only to James Franco, James Franco arrived at the 10 p.m. screening an hour early.

The following are his written impressions, abridged:

• "At some point, a huge crowd of Israeli women filed in and overpowered the Daft Punk emanating from my headphones. Must have been a special screening."
• "It was then I noticed a poster for the LA Jewish Film Festival depicting a bunch of directors’ chairs arranged like the Star of David. Underneath it read a different kind of star."
• "We entered the all-but-empty theater and sat in the back because I always sit in the back."
• "This is life. Man versus nature. Man’s machines. Man’s mastery of the planet. Man’s destruction of the planet. Man’s ushering in of the apocalypse. But it is also beautiful."
• "Dead fish. More romantic than dead cows. Is that because we’re more desensitized to seeing dead fish? Some restaurants serve them whole, and some “vegetarians” (pescetarians?) are OK with eating fish. Dead fish are somehow not as threatening or disgusting as other dead things that we eat; little swimming bundles of food plucked from the ocean, the unseen vastness."
• "I mean, WTF? How? How did the film’s makers achieve this poetry?"
• "Notice the cigarettes."
• "So many forms are consumed by the television these days, to see a bunch of truckers travel over ice-covered roads or a family of hunters doing their thing and being funny to boot is de rigeur on any given night."
• "Well, here it is: man, mastering the seas and the world, doing horrible things, brave things, impossible things. Because we are man. We need to survive. And conquer."

[Image via Getty]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.

Philadelphia police are asking for the public’s help to track down a young man who recently picked a very silly, slippy night to halfheartedly attempt a murder.

WTXF reports that on Wednesday, authorities released surveillance video of a man believed to be 21-year-old Henry Pettigrew rushing into the Purple Orchid strip club in Elmwood and firing several shots with an AK-47 rifle. One person sustained non-life-threatening injuries. Police have advised the public not to approach Pettigrew if they see him, but instead dial 9-1-1.

You will recognize Pettigrew because he will be the klutzy stumblebum tripping all over town (he's also 5’11, 180 pounds, with a thin beard). Perhaps you’ve seen him bonking his noggin on a “PULL” door he thought was a push while attempting to knock over a bank; or falling into a puddle and dropping all the rubies he was carrying into the mud while a bird poops on his head and his pants fall down.

The surveillance footage opens with Pettigrew firing some shots into a car in the parking lot, then promptly falling down. This isn’t falling down like, “Whoops, I tripped, did anyone see that?” This is falling down like SPLAT. Like Frogger. Like, are you really sure you want to push ahead with your plan to shoot up this strip club because I just saw you fall outside and you look like a DOPE?

Committed to chaos, he picks himself up without missing a beat and runs inside the strip club vestibule, where he promptly falls down AGAIN—just as big the second time—and scrambles around on the ground for a couple seconds like a newborn calf totally botching her first attempt at gun violence.

Finally, two bumbles deep, Pettigrew bursts into the strip club and starts shooting haphazardly. (Mischief managed.)

According to WTXF, police initially reported that the shooting was prompted by the club D.J.’s refusal to play Pettigrew’s favorite song, which, is annoying but probably does not warrant even a slapstick attempt to riddle his body with bullets. They’ve since taken a step back to say that the Pettigrew and his accomplice were engaged in a dispute with the club’s management and bouncers. Cops are also searching for the accomplice who drove Pettigrew's getaway car.

Feel free to use this gif to help identify him:

[via WTXF]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.

The Cock and the Pearl
A Cock, while scratching all around,
A Pearl upon the dunghill found:
"O splendid thing in foul disgrace,
Had there been any in the place
That saw and knew thy worth when sold,
Ere this thou hadst been set in gold.
But I, who rather would have got
A corn of barley, heed thee not;
No service can there render'd be
From me to you, and you to me."
I write this tale to them alone
To whom in vain my pearls are thrown.

Can we get an expert in here, please? (Or Demi Moore's boyfriend?)

Stars: They're just like us! Their boyfriends have pearls in their dicks! They go grocery shopping with their boyfriends with pearls in their dicks! They visit the planetarium with their boyfriends with pearls in their dicks! They decide to try a new restaurant with their boyfriends with pearls in their dicks and when they get there the service is really terrible and they're like (kind of annoyed) "Where did you find this place?" and their boyfriends with pearls in their dicks are like "I looked it up on Yelp. It got good reviews" and then they look it up on Yelp and realize that restaurant has two locations. ! Demi Moore's new boyfriend has a pearl in his dick.

You may be wondering "How'd that get there?" The New York Daily News will tell you: He put it there, because he is a pearl diver. The subdermal pearl was inserted into his penis in his native Australia when he was in his late teens. If he’s ever short a single pearl on a dive, an interesting #lifehack for him would be to go diving down into his penis where there is one waiting for him beneath his skin.

A source told the News the implementation of the penis pearl was in keeping with “pearl farming tradition.”

The Australian pearl diver with a pearl in his penis, whose name is Will Hanigan, met Demi Moore earlier this year when they were both taking a class to become certified Kundalini Yoga teachers. He is 30 and she is 50 and they both appear to have successfully completed the 3 day class, so don’t feel apprehensive about receiving yoga instruction from either or both of them.

According to the News Hanigan liked to boast back in Oz that the pearl makes sex feel more pleasurable for women, which seems like something that would come up in conversation, gosh, all the time.

No word on whether Demi Moore is playing the long con by "dating" him to get her hands on that precious pearl.

[Image via AP]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.

Facebook is quickly becoming a spooky graveyard, bereft of teens, populated by only a few try-hard adults and a pile of old elephant bones according to a new study from the Pew Research Center. There’s also a lot of drama there. Specifically: too much drama.

As the AP puts it:

“Twitter is booming as a social media destination for teenagers who complain about too many adults and too much drama on Facebook.”

The study found that while the number of teens active on social media who use Facebook has remained flat since last year (94%), the percentage with a Twitter account has more than doubled since 2011, to 26% (up from 12%). The amount of time Allie M. spends gossiping on Facebook about people's boyfriends like she knows them has increased 1000%.

Researcher Amanda Lenhart cited the presence of “fewer adults, fewer parents” on Twitter as one reason children are flocking there to set up Lord of the Flies-type brutal kidtatorships.

Another reason teens are cooling on Facebook: the ubiquity of drama.

"Facebook just really seems to have more drama," said 16-year-old Jaime Esquivel, a junior at C.D. Hylton High School in Woodbridge, Va., in an interview.

Of the 802 teens surveyed, over 60 percent reported that their Twitter accounts were public, making it possible for adults who act like they’re in high school to anonymously follow and make fun of them. Twelve percent of the teens (the dumb teens) said they had no idea whether their tweets were public or private.

The teens also confirmed that Pew's poll was awk, somewhat sketch, and really random, no offense.

[Image via Shutterstock]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.

No, that's very interesting! I was definitely not convinced they were steel drums (because I am bad at identifying instruments). Here is some balafon music for anyone who doesn't want to enter "youtube.com" into their search bar.

That being said, Beyoncé is A GROOOOOOWN WOMAN and can say what-ev-ah she likes.

In case you were too busy listening to other Beyoncé songs to notice, a rough version of Beyoncé’s (probable) new single, “Grown Woman,” leaked online Monday.

Inspired by the bold flavors of confidence, maturity, and BEIN’ GROWN that twerk and quake inside every sip of ice cold Pepsi®, the track is reportedly the gifted brainchild of rote hitmakers Timbaland, The-Dream, and Jesus Christ himself. It’s got a lot of handclaps and breakdowns and sound bites and hot flashes. There are even what sound like some steel drums toward the end, when the song suddenly becomes tropical for no reason, which explains why Beyoncé recently had to travel to the Caribbean. (To buy steel drums.)

The most interesting thing about “Grown Woman” though, is this: no matter how many windows you have it playing in simultaneously, overlapping itself, it still sounds about the same. It gets louder, certainly, and if you happen to start one window on an off-beat, the resulting mash-up of deafening pops can sound a little like the spray of a machine gun, but the frenetic energy remains intact.

Try it yourself and play around until you're satisfied. All of a sudden, you're a little mixmaster, churning out phat Beyoncé remixes. Your stage name: The-Nightmare. Your driving mission: to achieve peak Beyoncé.

For optimum results, I suggest opening the song in three windows: in the first, start the song from the hook; in the second, start it from the bridge; in the third, start it from that weird concluding foray into the tropics. You can also cheat by starting it in four windows, in a round, on counts of four.

Then again, you are a GROOOOOOWN WOMAN and can do WHAT-EV-AH YOU WAN’.

[Image via AP]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.

A Utah woman who hoped to teach her daughter a lesson about bullying succeeded only in turning her into the coolest, chicest girl on the block last week.

FOX-affiliate KSTU reports that, prior to her “punishment,” 10-year-old, Kaylee—whose last name was initially withheld to protect her privacy but is now being withheld just because she’s so fucking cool she doesn’t even need a last name, like Iman or Aaliyah—had spent the past few weeks establishing dominance on the playground by making fun of another student’s clothes. Kaylee’s mother said her daughter would tell the sleazily dressed girl she dressed “like a sleaze,” and called her names. The issue came to a head when a teacher emailed Kaylee’s mom and revealed the taunted student no longer wanted to come to school.

However, when Kaylee’s mother confronted her daughter about the mean comments, she found that Kaylee was unapologetic. If Kaylee were a hashtag, she would be #sorrynotsorry. If Kaylee were a Real Housewife, her opening line would be “I love making friends, enemies, and my own money. The only thing I don’t like making is apologies.”

So Kaylee’s mom decided to force her daughter to walk in the other girl’s unfashionable shoes: She bought $50 worth of clothing from a local thrift store and made Kaylee wear it to school two days in a row.

Now, Kaylee thought the clothes were embarrassing. She told a reporter that she cried when she saw the things she would be forced to wear. She said that her classmates made comments “behind [her] back” when they saw her outfits.

But, in fact, Kaylee looked great. The chicest hipster Murray, Utah had ever seen. A manic pixie Swedish barista. One day, she wore a navy dress with a cranberry Peter Pan collar that would probably retail for $89 on Mod Cloth. Another day, she she wore a red floral jumpsuit and it was like “Wow, when did Rihanna join this 5^th grade Accelerated Math class?”

Kaylee’s mom took pictures of her daughter posing in front of a tree in her vintage finds, presumably to immortalize her awkward tween shame. The photos ended up looking like album art for Kaylee’s critically acclaimed dream pop demo, or pages from a very au courant lookbook. Even her shiny blonde hair was on point. I don’t know how many ways I can say that Kaylee’s steez was off the heez before you get it, you sleazy skank.

In the wake of her two day brush with avant-garde fashion, Kaylee confirmed she had learned not to be a bully “because it’s stupid and it’s mean.”

Whatever, Kaylee. The only thing stupid is how great you look. Stupid great.

[via KSTU-FOX 13]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.

Everyone, from the dandiest Diddy to the poorest party spangler’s daughter loves Downton Abbey. Every week, we gather ‘round our television sets to watch our favorite characters die. “Why can’t I be a servant in the post-Edwardian era?” we cry as we watch the sallow-cheeked wait staff eat up screen time that should be devoted to the Grantham family’s glamorous problems. “Oh,” we gasp, when Lady Mary emerges in yet another devastating satin gown, “I wish I were a maid!”

Now, for a mere $1,000, our dishwater dreams can come true.

Those who aspire to a life of servitude (yet find themselves bound by the trappings of a hefty disposable income) are encouraged to place a bid on a unique, bizarre item up for auction to benefit New York’s Origin Theater Company: a topsy-turvy evening acting as a kind of servant for actor Brendan Coyle, better known as Mr. Bates (still better known as “Mehhhstah Behhhts”), Downton's often-maligned butler.

Here is the official description from the auction website. The intended effect seems to be that you will experience life as a menial employee for Coyle, but it also sort of sounds like you are Pretty Woman-ing him. I guess interpret it however fits your fancy:

The winner of the table-turning prize will read poetry to Coyle in a horse-drawn carriage ride in Central Park, and then take Coyle to dinner at the super fancy Per Se at the Time Warner Center, all the while making sure that Coyle's every need is taken care of. The bidder will offer to share their dessert with Coyle, and, after dinner will make sure Coyle gets home safely by depositing him in a cab and shutting the door for him. Coyle will then let the bidder know that he has arrived safely at his hotel.

Those who want to meet Brendan Coyle but are less eager to share their desserts with him can bid on a separate thousand-dollar item consisting of a normal old lunch in London.

Or you can buy both, do the New York one first, and then meet him for lunch in London yelling, “MY, HOW THE TABLES HAVE TURNED. REGARD ME NOW AS AN EQUAL.”

[Image via Getty // h/t Vanity Fair]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.

It's Pussy versus Butts in a race to the bottom next Election Day in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania's ninth-largest (and capital) city, and a renowned "broke-ass sinkhole of despair."

PennLive reports that a Harrisburg mayoral candidate with a strong DIY-ethic has been charged with criminal mischief and criminal conspiracy after he was caught defacing the signs of a campaign rival earlier this month. With the help of a little black spray paint, a little elbow grease, and a little big SUV with out-of-state plates, seven of candidate Eric Papenfuse's "PAPENFUSE FOR MAYOR" signs were altered to read "PAPENPUSS! FOR MAYOR." Note the jaunty exclamation point for flair.

The candidate who defaced the signs was caught in the act by a taxi driver, who followed him to multiple locations as he and an unidentified accomplice made their "PUSS!" joke again and again. The cabbie took down the vandals' license plate number; it was later traced to a car owned by the candidate's sister.

PennLive called the effect on the outcome of the election "negligible" as the offending candidate "was polling somewhere between zero and 2 percent." One of the platforms outlined on his official website (which features, as a banner image, greenish portraits of Benjamin Franklin, Abraham Lincoln, and Harriet Tubman) reads, in part:

"Harrisburg has a lot of Glorious Architecture. Let's add more architecture."

Dauphin County's District Attorney speculated that the "PUSS!"-monster would be sentenced to probation for his crime, but receive no jail time.

Incidentally, defacing the vandal-candidate's signs in retaliation is unnecessary, as they have already been painted blue by God: His name is "Lewis Butts."

("Butts!")

[Via PennLive, image via AP]

To contact the author of this post, email caity@gawker.com.