Filthy Celebrity Imposter Blog

Whether it be Cher, Michael Jackson or Elvis, most celebrity imposters stick to impersonating just one star. And once the given celebrity changes their look, gets a nose removed or craps out their entrails, the jig is up.

Not so with CRACKED'S very own under-cover gossip columnist: The Filthy Celebrity Imposter, a man who can take the form of just about anyone you can think of (seen right impersonating Tyra Banks), and uses his powers to perpetrate some of the most depraved acts the human race has ever known. Read at your own risk.

Did you know that most celebrities don't eat turkey for Thanksgiving? In order to truly give thanks for their mansions and fleets of Lambourgini Countachs, most famous people give God oral sex and then feast upon His giant sperm. It tastes kind of like spicy pork chops.
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Where did I eat God's giant sperm this past long weekend? It just so happens that I intercepted Tyra Banks's invitation to Phil Donahue's Thanksgiving shin-dig in Washington DC. I dressed up like Tyra and talked Phil Donahue into using a strategically-placed rubber hose to drink his own God's giant sperm diarrhea.

Whenever I'm in DC, I like to dress up as George W. Bush and walk up to any old dude on the street and be like, "What say you get down by my butt and eat this tasty fart I've got warming up on deck?"

Usually, they'll comply without a problem, but if they ever give me any guff, I just start yelling, "I'm the President of America, douche-box! Haven't you ever read the Constitution?"
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Even more fun than that, though, is messing with other politicians. A couple of days ago, I busted into Congress in my President outfit and yelled, "I hereby demand that you make a law requiring that every dildo sold in America come coated in earwax and blessed with a kiss by Stevie Nicks!"

All of the congressmen and congresswomen were so grossed out, they barfed up the babies they'd eaten for breakfast. Then, to top it off, I made them use fountain pens full of their own puke to write the law.

Last night, when I got back to LA, I dressed up like Woody Harrelson and showed up high as balls to a Woody Harrelson fan-club meeting. The girls there freaked out so much when they saw me that I was standing ankle-deep in their pee in no time.
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So I asked, "Who's the biggest Woody Harrelson fan here?"

They all started screaming, but I could see it in the eyes of this one girl, that she was the true biggest fan. Her name was Becky.

"Becky," I said, "if you really love me, you'll come with me to the Red Roof Inn and get buck-wild nasty with me."

So, we went to the Red Roof Inn, put our naked butts against each other and pooped into each other's buttholes, back and forth until our two poops were one. It was so romantic that Becky died.