Vacuous L.A. purse-chihuahua, Perez Hilton, has announced the first addition to his unbelievably ill-advised record label…Perezcious Music…(wow)…an offshoot of his Hollywood gossip rag, which is equal parts unfunny, obese, and cum-stained.

I give you the one thing gayer than Perez Hilton…Sliimy:

Something seems very familiar about all this…

Oh, yeah.

Sliimy is right, butterball. And if you just had to copy us AGAIN, clown, did you have to sign a Frenchman with a deliberately misspelled name?

Wack as this mess is, we won’t judge this poser too hastily. Maybe all that VH1, eating, and John-Mayer-banging rotted his neuroreceptors to useless. Or, perhaps, an L.A. gossip site-cum-record label suddenly becomes a fresh idea again if started by a whiny, bitch-voiced, slut-scouting, YouTube-sobbing, pop culture vampire tranny. Courageous, I’m sure.

Our most pressing concern is that the least likely person on the planet to know the first thing about music has taken it upon himself to start a record label. Not a good sign. You needn’t look further than the fact that he named his label the unprecedentedly tasteless PEREZCIOUS RECORDS to know that Mario is as out of his element as a fucking humpback whale in outer space.

This bulbous, old, and opportunistic pervert has his place creepily hanging from the coattails of someone else’s 16-year-old, coke head daughter, and nowhere else. Because if you can’t even do a YouTube video without making that “Leave Britney Alone” fruitcake look like Charles Bronson, who’s going to buy your retarded records? No one, of course. And that means you need to keep it in the shoe store, Sally.

Or, if you keep stifling our flow, we’ll call Will.Smith.I.Am to beat a bitch.

And how in the pink hell did a Black Eyed Pea take out half of your right eyebrow by punching your left eye?

FREAK.

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