Following a contentious argument about the widely shared video of Miranda Lambert berating concertgoers, Whoopi Goldberg left the ABC television series The View set.
The comedian was in the middle of debating the viral moment when Miranda Lambert stopped singing her hit song “Tin Man” in the middle of her performance to reprimand a group of audience girls for taking selfies when she was performing. Sarah Haines, Joy Behar, Sunny Hostin, and Alyssa Farah Griffin were also present when Whoopi got up and left.
“Even though they came to see her and paid for tickets, they don’t want to be there. Whoopi stated, “So if she’s singing, show her at least a little respect so that you know you can see her and she can see you too.”
The co-hosts, however, disagreed with her viewpoint.
“I’m not at all divided on this. The $757 tickets in the VIP area they were in are pricey. Whoopi left after Sunny declared, “I’m going to take as many selfies as I want if I paid $757.”
When she saw a ninety-one-year-old woman and stopped to snap a selfie with her, the audience laughed as she exited the room. because I would like a photo with this amazing ninety-one-year-old woman. We shall so take a selfie. You and I together.
My Neighbor Kept Hanging out Her Panties Right in Front of My Son’s Window, So I Taught Her a Real Lesson
The underwear of my neighbor turned into the star of a suburban farce, stealing the show directly outside my son’s 8-year-old window. Jake’s innocent question about whether her thongs were slingshots made me realize that the “panty parade” needed to end and that it was time to teach her some prudence when doing the laundry.
Oh, suburbia: a place where everything seems perfect, the air filled with the scent of freshly cut grass, and life goes on without incident until someone changes everything. At that point, Lisa, our new neighbor, showed up. Everything had been rather quiet until wash day, when I saw something for the first time that had caught me off guard: a rainbow of her panties flapping outside Jake’s window like flags at a dubious parade.I nearly choked on my coffee one afternoon while folding Jake’s superhero underwear and happened to look out the window. And there they were, lacy and blazing pink and very much on show. Ever the inquisitive child, my son glanced over my shoulder and posed the dreaded query, “Mom, why is Mrs. Lisa wearing her underpants outside? And why are there strings on some of them? Are they for her hamster companion?I tried to explain between choked laughter and horrified astonishment. However, Jake’s imagination was running wild as he pondered whether Mrs. Lisa had aerodynamically engineered underpants and was indeed a superhero. He even expressed a desire to participate, proposing that his Captain America boxers be displayed next to her “crime-fighting gear.” Jake would get curious and Lisa’s laundry would flap in the breeze on a daily basis. But I realized it was time to terminate this farce when he offered to hang his own underpants next to hers. So, prepared to settle the dispute amicably, I marched over to her residence. Before I could say anything, Lisa answered the door and made it plain that she wasn’t going to break her laundry routine for anyone. She dismissed my worries with a laugh, advised me to “loosen up,” and even gave me style tips for my own clothes. Despite my frustration, I remained resolute and devised a cleverly trivial scheme. Using the brightest fabric I could find, I made the biggest, flashiest pair of granny panties ever that evening. When Lisa departed the following day, I hung my work of art directly in front of her window. When she came back, the sight of the enormous underwear with a flamingo print almost took her breath away. It was worth every stitch to watch her lose her cool trying to take down my practical joke. After a while, she gave in and agreed to shift her laundry somewhere less noticeable, all the while I silently celebrated my success. After that, Lisa’s laundry disappeared from our shared vision, and everything returned to normal. What about me? In the end, I had some flamingo-themed curtains that served as a constant reminder of the day I prevailed in the suburban laundry war.
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