Kourtney Kardashian called out over 'unprofessional' Lemme promo that leaves even daughter Penelope cringing: 'She literally hates working!'
The 46-year-old Lemme co-founder attempted to promote the sale of her vitamin and botanical supplement company in honor of Amazon Prime Day, which runs through Friday, but she didn't even know what day it was when she filmed it in the car.
Kourtney - who boasts 283.4M social media followers - stammered: 'Hi everyone, ummm... it... Lemme... what is it? I can't talk. Amazon Prime Day started yesterday, and...'
Kardashian managed to make her 13-year-old daughter Penelope Scotland Disick cringe as she interrupted: 'Restart.'
'No, I'm not going to restart. I'm just going to do it,' The Kardashians producer-star clapped back.
'And so, everything Lemme is on sale. So [I] just wanted to say happy shopping! Ummm, I don't know what day it is, but it ends on August 11th.'
Quickly realizing her mistake, Kourtney - now wearing sunglasses - filmed a second video: 'Okay, whoops, it ends July 11th not August 11th. That would be the longest Prime Day ever.'
When a TikTok user reposted Kardashian's fumbling clip, users like @Chels commented: 'One thing about Kourtney is she literally hates working.'
TikTok user @kaymendez96 agreed: 'So when she means I don't want to work, she really doesn't want to work at all haha!'
'This is why I don't buy Lemme. [Because] at least you can tell Kim cares about SKIMS at least you can tell Kylie is super invested and into make-up,' TikTok user @tickytocker53 wrote.
'Kourtney and her carefree attitude is usually iconic but not when it comes to running a business and taking my money.'
TikTok user @Erica commented: 'Every one can detect the twinge of narcissism when she says "No, I'm not gonna restart" instead of just being humble and laughing at herself. Kim is much more professional than this.'
'She doesn't even care enough about her product to make an accurate video,' TikTok user @Alissagator scoffed.
'So why should we care about buying it? Unprofessional and unrelateable.'
TikTok user @vavisboring wrote: 'That's so on brand for her.'
'She doesn't care, and I love it,' TikTok user @jdub055 commented.
TikTok user @kaymendez96 agreed: 'So when she means I don't want to work, she really doesn't want to work at all haha!'
TikTok user @Erica commented: 'Every one can detect the twinge of narcissism when she says "No, I'm not gonna restart" instead of just being humble and laughing at herself. Kim is much more professional than this'
TikTok user @vavisboring wrote: 'That's so on brand for her'
Kourtney co-founded Lemme with publicist Simon Huck as far back as 2019, but they didn't launch the brand until 2022 in order to 'meet with doctors, formulators, and scientists.'
The sugar-filled gummies come in varieties like Purr, Debloat, Grow, and GLP-1 Daily - the last of which became the subject of a two class action lawsuits filed in California on February 19 and New York on March 9 alleging false advertising for weight loss.
And Kardashian rarely posts about her lifestyle website called Poosh, which she launched in early 2019.
The half-Armenian beauty is one of the few college graduates in her family as she holds a bachelor's degree in theatre arts from the University of Arizona.
Kourtney mothered Penelope and her sons Mason, 15; and Reign, 10; during her on/off nine-year relationship with Talentless CEO Scott Disick, which ended in 2015.
Kardashian mothered 20-month-old son Rocky Thirteen with her neighbor-turned-husband Travis Barker.
The Calabasas socialite is also stepmother to the 48-year-old Grammy-nominated drummer's three older children - son Landon, 21; daughter Alabama, 18; and stepdaughter Atiana De La Hoya, 26 - from his three-year marriage to Miss USA 1995 Shanna Moakler, which ended in 2008.
Kourtney will soon begin production on the seventh season of her family's Hulu reality show, The Kardashians.
Kardashian was technically the first member of her family to star in a reality show - The Simple Life-inspired eight-episode series Filthy Rich: Cattle Drive, which aired in 2005 on E!
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BBC News
13 minutes ago
- BBC News
Kendrick Lamar and SZA deliver a stadium-worthy performance
Kendrick Lamar and SZA's Grand National tour rolled into London on Tuesday night, setting a new standard in how to create the ultimate stadium an art form that some of the world's biggest stars are yet to perfect, but the pair breezed through their 52-track setlist at the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium, stripping back the gimmicks and distractions to focus on their epic back California rapper and Missouri singer-songwriter have already broken records with the biggest co-headline tour in history, consisting of 39 shows across North America and serves as one big celebration of their recent achievements - Lamar's hit album GNX and SZA's deluxe edition of SOS, which both came out in 2024. On paper, bringing together two of the world's biggest artists in a joint show - rather than consigning one to a support slot - should be a guaranteed success. Just look at the numbers - they have a combined monthly listnership on Spotify of150 million after bear in mind that these are two artists with wildly different performance styles and subject matter - SZA is melodic and ethereal, whilst Lamar is punchy and fired sings about her past relationships and her struggles with finding self-worth, whilst Kendrick explores social commentary, his upbringing and ever increasingly, his as they switched between sets, offering up five to six songs each in the early stages of the two-and-a-half-hour show, you realised that the shared headline slot was clear the pair worked tirelessly to create a show that feels seamless - Lamar brought an intensity to the first act with tracks such as King Kunta and ELEMENT, which were punctuated by constant bursts of fire and the pair swapped over, the energy remained high, with SZA tearing through hits such as 30 for 30 and Broken Clocks, which were reworked to feel simplicity of the set design, which featured large moving screens on the main stage and a circular platform, allowed the focus to remain on the two of the sets are punctuated with dancers, but both artists spent the majority of their sets out on their own, drawing full attention from the 10-year working relationship was certainly evident in the duet sections of the show, in which the pair came together seamlessly to perform All the Stars, one of the evening's highlights and more recent collaborations Luther and Gloria. With any tour that features more than one headliner, it's difficult to determine the audience split, but the London fans greeted both performers with the same adoration. The crowd's energy for some of Lamar's earliest songs was electric, with mosh pits erupting throughout the standing areas for Backstreet Freestyle and family was certainly captivating throughout, notably performing without backing vocals to showcase his impressive rap flow and breath elements of the stadium show were borrowed from his Super Bowl half-time show from February this year, which was seen by more than 120 million crowd appeared delighted to see that many of the viral dances from that performance had made it to the tour, with the choreography during the track Peekaboo providing maximum sets were also interspersed with marching band snippets, which are not only prevalent on Lamar's GNX album, but also helped to recreate the big American stadium atmosphere that his music lends itself Lamar as he stalked across the vast circular platform, he commanded every single audience member with his presence - there were no costume changes, no dance routines, just a rapper at the very top of his was at his most intense when he performed his diss tracks, which also elicited the biggest reaction from the 38-year-old's year-long rap beef with Drake has been incredibly well-documented and whilst he may have showed a little restraint during his Super Bowl show, none of that was on display performance of Euphoria - a track in which he lyrically expresses his hatred for the Canadian rapper, was particularly cutting, But Not Like Us, Lamar's most commercially successful diss track and his most vicious takedown of Drake, was by far the biggest highlight of the came as song 50 of 52 on the setlist and it's was clear the audience hadn't just been waiting all night for it, but probably since they booked their tickets many months knew that a track centred around calling Drake a paedophile (something he strongly denies) could create the best atmosphere the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium has seen in years. Whilst Lamar's stage set-up was understated, SZA got a little more creative when it came to her production individual sets were based around nature, with dancers appearing throughout dressed as anything from trees to giant also performed several songs on the back of what appeared to be a giant green ant sculpture, before climbing into a harness and ascending the stage with huge butterfly creating an out-of-this-world environment on-stage, tonight's performance saw her at her most her disappointing Glastonbury headline slot at last year's festival, much of the discourse surrounded whether she understood British audiences and was able to connect to doubt was put to bed from the very start of her performance, which displayed her true talents as a confident and multi-talented 35-year-old connected with the crowd instantly, serenading them with fan favourites such as Scorsese Baby Daddy and comparison to her Glastonbury headline slot, there was one similarity - she again suffered technical issues on Tuesday evening, appearing to struggle with her in-ear monitors this didn't affect her vocals at all, which were beautifully crisp, even during fairly complicated dance stage presence was impressive, as was her ability to adapt her slower songs so that they dovetailed perfectly with Lamar's frenetically paced the greatest highlight of her set came towards the end of the evening, as she lulled the crowd into an almost dreamlike state with then told the crowd how it was "crazy how you can go from being engaged to complete strangers" before she sang ballad Nobody Gets performing three of her own separate sets, which included songs from albums Ctrl, SOS and its recently updated deluxe version, SZA appeared once more to end the show with finished with two love songs - Luther and Gloria, before disappearing beneath the stage in a prop car, basically the production equivalent of riding off into the sunset.
The Guardian
13 minutes ago
- The Guardian
‘You think God didn't make gay men?' Comedian Leslie Jones on religion, grief and getting famous at 47
It's early evening in a photography studio in west London, and the American comedian Leslie Jones is capering about, dressed in a full-length gold lamé ballgown and smoking. 'Make me look skinny,' she says to the photographer's departing back. 'I'm 6ft tall – I can't cut my feet off,' she says, later. 'I can't stop being a scary motherfucker. This is who I am – let me work with who I am.' Yet, she is the opposite of scary. Statuesque, no question, but whatever she's doing, whether peering into a bag of fish and chips as if it's alive, or telling her assistant to read The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho's trust-the-universe novel, for the 100th time, there is always somebody laughing. She brings an air of deliberate chaos, which you just have to surrender to, wherever the conversation leads, until you find yourself nodding along with the most crackpot conclusion. (The birthrate is low because men spend too much time in hot tubs, and their sperm has become lazy and complacent? 'It's funny, but it's true. Go look that shit up – I'm not saying something that's not factual. I hope.') She knows this about herself: 'I'm the type of person who, if I'm happy, everybody in the room is going to be happy, and if I'm sad, it's going to be very quiet and tense. I'm a temperature guider in the room.' I didn't see her sad, so I only know that the first bit is true; not every comedian even wants to spread joy, but Jones wants to, and does so raucously, effortlessly. So it's a surprise that the first thoughts out of her mouth are serious ones. 'We're repeating the worst part of history right now,' she says, 'but maybe it's for the lesson that we didn't learn the last time.' We're talking about Donald Trump, of course, who that day had been blocked by a court in his attempt to end birthright citizenship, and imposed blanket tariffs on Canada and even more swingeing ones on Brazil. It sounds, though, as if she's saying this is part of God's plan. 'I definitely believe in something other than ourselves,' she says. 'I believe in a higher power. We're in his image. So when you see someone, you're looking at God.' It's hard (but maybe just for an atheist like me) to square this trenchant, evangelical certainty with her politics, and those, generally, of Saturday Night Live, the flagship US sketch show that doesn't just take casual aim at religiosity, but makes the most complicated, long-form scriptural points about race, politics, capitalism and Trumpism. Respect for faith at absolutely no time gets in the way of a joke. The problem, Jones says, is not God, but the rightwing capture of Christianity. 'He made all these animals, he made all these plants – you think he didn't make gay men? A transgender man or woman?' Yes, of course. 'How can you look at a platypus and not see a woman who is not as beautiful? Does that makes sense?' Not really, no. But even the intonation on 'platypus' is mysteriously hilarious. Her grandmother was funny, her dad was funny, her brother was 'kind of goofy funny'; if any of them had become comedians, she would have been out of a job, she says. 'My mom wasn't funny, but she was a very joyful woman.' Yet her childhood and indeed life have not been easy, as she detailed in her memoir, Leslie F*cking Jones, two years ago, which she prefaced: 'Now I'm gonna be honest: some of the details might be vague because a bitch is 55 and she's smoked a ton of weed. A lot of it is hazy, but I will give you the best recollection of it that I can.' Her dad was an army veteran who became an electrical engineer. He was also an alcoholic, who moved the family from Memphis to LA when he got a job at Stevie Wonder's radio station, but then lost that job. Meanwhile, her mother had a stroke when Jones was very young, and both parents died within six months of each other, her dad in 2000, her mum in 2001, when Jones was in her early 30s. Jones missed both funerals because she was working to pay for them. Her brother died in 2009, when he was only 38, having been found unconscious in a park in Santa Barbara. Jones describes her young life as a series of glorious flameouts. Having a natural height advantage, she wanted to be a basketball player. 'When I had my mind on it', she says, 'I was so good, but most of the time, I was inconsistent. But I could coach my ass off.' She got a basketball scholarship to Chapman University in California, then switched to Colorado State University, changed her major several times, started off doing computer science, dropped it, spent a term and some determination on being 'not just law enforcement, a serial-killer finder', but couldn't shoot a gun. 'I thought: 'I can be Columbo. You don't see him shooting a gun.' And everybody was like: 'Columbo totally had a gun. He was a cop.' Then I was going to be a lawyer, because I love to talk. I was not going to be a lawyer when they handed me all those books and wanted me to read them.' She eventually settled on communications. She was, however, a natural comic, winning 'funniest person on campus' in 1987. After that, 'there was never a point of giving up, because comedy was my thing. When it didn't pay the bills, I'd have to get a job and still be a comic. Because I'm a comic.' After the bereavements of the 00s, though, it was a different kind of comedy. Particularly after her brother died, 'I was evil. Not evil, just angry. Performing, and angry. My routine was raw, it started getting to where I thought: 'I don't give a fuck whether you all laugh.' I was destroying it. That's when I started wearing a mohawk. People thought I did it for fashion – no, I just didn't want to comb my hair. I was bare minimum getting out of bed.' She was taking drugs, she says, and she doesn't mean weed, 'I mean drugs drugs. Speed.' Of all the rotten substances, I say, why speed? 'Because I was having sex with a guy. I mean, listen, if we're going to be honest, let's be honest. He was hot, first of all. He was really good in bed. And he would do speed, so I did it because he would do it. I did not know how it was affecting me.' I come out of this unclear on a lot of the causal links, but with a pretty clear read on the mix of nihilism and life force that messed her up but propelled her along at the same time. 'I was like: 'Hey, everybody's gone; if it's time for me to die, then I'll die.' Then I saw this couple, who you could tell were on drugs, and I thought: 'That's going to be you if you don't stop this foolishness.' I busted up laughing. That was hilarious.' In 2013, Saturday Night Live held an unusual mid-season casting call to add at least one African American female comic to the cast, in response to the criticism by two cast members that the show was too white. Jones was hired as a writer, rather than a featured player, later appearing on screen the following May. At 47, she was the oldest new hire the show had ever made, but none of this was an easy fit. She was not political, she says. 'I was just a regular person that thought the government did its thing, I ain't got time to worry about what they doing, I'm going to work every day. If you guys raise the gas price, it doesn't matter, because I'm still going to put $20 in my car. I had not a clue. And you know, I am the average American. We just think, 'The government's going to take care of that shit,' and when people complain about the government, you think: 'Oh, that's just because you're trying to get one over on the government.' I might have been kind of a Trumper and didn't know it.' For a long time, she relentlessly harassed her main mark on the show, co-star Colin Jost, who she adored, wrestled and kind of manhandled in a way that really foregrounded her attachment to comedy so physical it's almost mime-adjacent. 'People don't understand in that first year, maybe the first two seasons, I was really in love with Colin. I didn't know how it was going to happen, whether we would just work late together and make out in his office and drink whiskey. I had all the visions. He was so cute, and funny, and he was just so white. Such a white nerd frat boy, that I was like: 'I want him.' Every time I would see him in the corridor, I'd shout: 'I love you, Colin, you beautiful white stud!'' Nothing came of the crush, except that it became a recurring joke on the show. Jost got together with Scarlett Johansson in 2017, and they married in 2020. Last year, Jones told Drew Barrymore on her chatshow that she'd sworn off men for good, having grown 'tired of raising boys', and she picks up this theme with gusto. 'People talk about society going through a 'lonely man' phase. It comes back to you all won't do the work to become the person that you really can be. You're waiting for me to solve your problems. You're waiting for me to give you permission. Grow up – I'm not Build-A-Bear. Fuck that shit. Every time I get on the dating apps, I'll be like: 'I want to call the FBI. All of the serial killers are here.'' If she struggled to settle in at SNL, it wasn't just because she wasn't 'woke' enough. She was also still grieving, and 'I was not acting out, but I wasn't well. I wasn't cognisant of how my behaviour was affecting others. I remember Lorne [Michaels, producer and creator of SNL] texting me; I had said, 'I'm so sorry how I'm acting,' and he said, 'I talk to my wife about a lot of things, and she says: 'I am so glad you are talking about these things, but can you not talk about them to me? Can you find somebody else?' That's when SNL found me a therapist.' She speaks more highly of therapy than anyone I've ever heard, but really for what it did for her comedy: 'To be a good comic, you have to go deep into yourself, and have empathy and love yourself. It takes years to get fucked up; it's gonna take years to clean up. So, you know when you go to a psychic?' Not really, but go on … 'And you're, like, 'Bitch, you're not going to tell me shit,' and then by the 40th minute, she has broken you down? That was therapy. It made me a better person, made me a better friend, for sure, made me a better comic.' Three years into her SNL work, she got the role of Patty Tolan in what turned out to be an ill-fated reboot of Ghostbusters, which spawned a depressing wave of racist and misogynistic abuse on what was then Twitter. 'The platform is the first thing I went after, because I was like: 'Hey, I'm in your club; you're supposed to have security. People are shooting at me. I shouldn't have death threats on here.' People were like, 'Ignore it', and I absolutely was not going to ignore it. I am so tired of this attitude, I am so tired of being the bigger person. No, meet these motherfuckers where they at and fight back. I am not a victim – you're an asshole. It's wild to me that we can build these glorious things, we can build an iPhone, and we still can't beat racism.' She left SNL in 2019, and has since hosted the reboot of Supermarket Sweep, as well as an MTV awards ceremony, guest-hosted The Daily Show, voiced animated projects for film and TV and written her memoir. For her next move, she says, 'I want to do a serious acting role, maybe play some kind of detective. I could find the serial killer or I could be the serial killer.' She dissolves into laughter, as it is not lost on her how often she talks about serial killers. In a way, there's nothing more serious than her mission as a comic to get funnier the worse things get. 'That's my job, to bring some joy – you can't cry all day. That's what they want, they want you sad. They want you to see no light.' Leslie Jones is on tour in the US from 19 September to 22 November
The Guardian
13 minutes ago
- The Guardian
‘War is very funny for the first couple of years': how Russia's invasion transformed Ukraine's comedy scene
Anton Tymoshenko is exhausted. Ukraine's most famous standup comedian – Volodymyr Zelenskyy doesn't count, since he is the president – has just returned from a gruelling European tour, involving 36 shows in 50 days. He played in Berlin, Paris and London. And Birmingham, where Tymoshenko tried unsuccessfully to buy Peaky Blinders merchandise. His audiences were made up of Ukrainians living abroad, many refugees. The tour raised nearly half a million dollars, all of which will go to Ukraine's armed forces. As well as being tired, Tymoshenko is angry at the situation his country finds itself in after Russia's invasion. 'War is very funny for the first couple of years. Then it becomes not so funny,' he says, speaking in Kyiv's popular comedy venue, the Underground Standup club. He quotes Mark Twain's observation that humour is tragedy plus time. 'We have tragedy plus tragedy plus tragedy,' he says, after a week in which Moscow has pummelled Kyiv and other Ukrainian cities with hundreds of kamikaze drones and missiles. The war has transformed Ukraine's once small standup scene. A decade ago most comedians spoke in Russian. The well resourced Kremlin flooded Ukrainian channels with Russian programmes and music. In 2022, when Russian tanks arrived, all comedians switched to performing in Ukrainian. In the weeks after Russia's attack they met online, told jokes, and shared content, with some beaming in from enemy-occupied territory. 'The war gave us a cultural boost,' Tymoshenko says. 'Russian comedy isn't really comedy since they don't tell the truth, especially about politics.' Since those difficult early months, standup has become enormously popular. In 2023, Tymoshenko filled Kyiv's 3,000-seat Palace of Ukraine. Last year, he toured North America, performing for the first time in English – a challenge that forced him to test out punchlines with friends. His New Jersey set involved gags about bomb shelters ('even if you tell a bad joke, people will stay') and weapons ('I understand you can't send them all. You need to keep some for your schools.') And Joe Biden ('He's very similar to Ukrainians. He looks like he can die at any second.') He acknowledges a debt to Zelenskyy, whose comedy studio Kvartal 95 was highly successful in Ukraine and noughties Russia, during Vladimir Putin's first years in the Kremlin. Long before he went into politics, Zelenskyy was celebrated as an entertainer and actor. 'Without him we would have had Russian stuff,' Tymoshenko says. At some point, however, the studio developed a 'monopoly on humour', producing dozens of TV shows and films, including the drama Servant of the People. In it, Zelenskyy plays the president, a role that propelled him in 2019 to a real-life landslide election victory. 'They tried to be everywhere and it became bad,' Tymoshenko says. He prefers Zelenskyy as a wartime leader. 'It's cool to have a guy like him in power. You get pretty strong Black Mirror vibes. It's not normal but the world is not normal, so it fits,' he says. Tymoshenko describes his own style of humour as 'pretty dark'. He jokes about death: 'Some people lost nothing. Some people lost everything. The challenge is to find a direction that works for everyone. People are tired of war. You have to find an original way to make them laugh and to not depress them.' Svyat Zagaikavich, the founder of the Underground Standup club, began performing in 2012 in a flat and cafe. After Putin's annexation of Crimea two years later, the club moved to new central premises in a subterranean former Irish pub opposite the Golden Gate, a Kyiv landmark. In Zagaikavich's view, Ukrainian standup has come of age: 'It's really dark humour. There are a lot of jokes about dead Russians. Before, some comedians would show stupid people by talking in Ukrainian. Now they do it by speaking Russian. You joke and do everything in life like it's for the last time.' For those stressed by war, comedy has an important social function, he says. 'We get a lot of feedback, like, 'You saved me from my mental problems.' Earlier we thought we comedians were doing cool work. Now we have a mission. It's to stop people from going crazy,' he says. Zagaikavich presents Ukraine's version of the humorous British quizshow QI. Its ex-host Stephen Fry was in Kyiv in 2022 for a conference on mental health, invited by Ukraine's first lady Olena Zelenska. He visited the club and gave Zagaikavich a signed photo with the words: 'Stephen Fry died here.' On a Sunday in mid-July, 100 people came to Ukraine's QI show, which was recorded in a theatre on Kyiv's much-bombed left bank. 'It's like therapy for us. It brings us together. We're tired of being serious about the war. You need to relax and chill out,' one fan Angelina Gromova, says. Another, Anna Prudii, says she watched Russian comedy before dumping it in 2014 for Ukrainian acts. 'It has helped me a lot. It cheers me up. In the last three years it became very popular,' she says. About Zelenskyy, she was diplomatic: 'I watched his show with my parents. It's of its time.' Comedian Nastya Zukhvala says that when she began doing standup organisers would give one token slot to a female performer. Now comedy is more equal, she says: 'We have more masculine men, running around doing rat-tat-tat. At the same time there is a lot of work for women. Sexism isn't the most effective way of fighting.' Zukhvala, who is a regular QI panellist, says her feminist brand of comedy has become 'rougher' and more patriotic because of the war. 'It's about everyday life. Everyone who lives in such crazy times and who prefers to resist becomes funnier,' she says. She is one of a dozen comedians who have done international tours to raise money for Ukraine's army. Zukhvala visited the UK. It was a mixed experience: there was a low point in Glasgow, she says, when the owner of a fish and chip shop told her to go home and 'kill Putin'. Tymoshenko and Zukhvala have performed all across Ukraine, including in the southern frontline city of Kherson. Russian soldiers and drone operators are camped out just across the Dnipro River. 'The city is almost empty. It's a very intense feeling. It wasn't a standard show. There were a lot of old people,' she says. After three years in Kyiv, Tymoshenko says his parents have recently returned to their home village outside Nikopol, another frontline city under regular artillery and drone fire. He grew up there in the countryside 'playing with sticks', before moving to Kyiv to study political science. The authors he read – Plato and Aristotle – do not reflect the non-ideal world today, a place of 'brute power and money'. He believes there will not be much to laugh about when the war finally ends: 'I'm sure Ukraine will win and Russia will burn. But we've lost so many people. You can't imagine Victory Day as 'Wow!'.' In the meantime, he suggests things are looking up for Ukrainian female comedians. 'We will only have female ones because we men will all have died,' he says blackly. Find more age of extinction coverage here, and follow the biodiversity reporters Phoebe Weston and Patrick Greenfield in the Guardian app for more nature coverage
