Roland Is Judging You: Julia Stiles

Ciao, darlings. It is I, Roland. I have awoken once more to find myself with an empty home (save for that insufferable mange of a dog, who has been eyeing a lone shoe on the floor for ten minutes now. Do it, puppy, have your way with the shoe, I beg of you. Take the shoe, I promise you, you won't be turned out into the wild. She doesn't like that shoe anyway. Take it. TAKE IT!)

Ahem. Ahh, my pets, how I have missed you. I have been neglected, dears, neglected in the harshest of manners. Shark Week. Pfft. I care not for Shark Week, humans. Peel your eyes away from Megaladon and rub my chin, gods damn you! Thank the woodland goddess Shark Week comes but once a year, darlings, or your dearest Roland here would go unfed and unkempt while the lady stared endlessly at her television with ne'er but her Starbucks to distract her now and again. I love her, but painfully so, I must confess. It is the same tiger shark special as last year and the year before, my sweet gin-laden girl. Cuddle your cat, lest ye be bitten on the earlobe while sleeping. You are correct, dear gal, you did only have two holes in your ears when you dozed the eve before last. Twas your petite Rolie that took care of the additional punctures. My teeth are for more than show, bella.

Now, to the matter at hand:



Oh goodness, dear. What have you off and done? Do my eyes deceive me, or is that a paisley printed silk cowl necked mess accompanied by black patterned (snake print?! Does the zoom really reveal that these are SNAKE PRINT?!) ill fitting leather strappy sandles? Child, are you well? Were you not aware that you would be off to a special screening of your very own movie until mere moments before you were photographed, and were therefore left with no option but to steal the shoes of a smaller friend and then hijack a truck going past which just happened to be carrying a load of Alexander McQueen dresses? It's East Hampton, so I reckon trucks do drive on past carrying ne'er but designer gowns, but if you were going to steal a dress perhaps you could have stolen one that flattered your form or at least made you resemble even slightly the female figure one expects to see shadowed beneath a sheath such as this, no? Alexander McQueen made some stunning gowns for Spring/Summer '07. Your options were limitless within your designer of choice. Where did you FIND this? And while I understand that you were clearly caught by surprise, was there nothing more you could do with your hair, aside from pulling it back using it's own grease as a molding putty? My sweet Julia, you are not photographed often, you know. When these rare moments arrive, you must seize them and possibly even smile. By no means should you turn and stare dully into the lens before turning and staring dully again into the lens from the front again.

Dear girl, did the photog insult you? Did you attempt to mend the hem of this dress all by yourself? Have you heard not of pedicures? Are you angry that you're being photographed on a cement slab bedecked with long since forgotten Bubble Yum? Whatever is ailing you, child, you must turn your lips upward into what is known as a smile. You must retain the services of a stylist, or if you are not willing to do so, then you must at the very least start shopping for photographed events more than ten minutes before they are scheduled to start. I applaud you for covering your lady bits as a good girl should, but I ask that in the future you cover them in something that doesn't casually say "meh, whatever...I'm dressed, right?" Poppet, I have so little time to peruse the expanse of the interworld at peace. Please do not interrupt it with such crimes against my gorgeous bedroom eyes again.

Judge This...

Cindy Crawford Topless Pics...I guess there's still a demographic for this somewhere- Egotastic

This chick's still knocked up and still marrying Usher. Wow, that's like every probably seven or eight girl's dreams, at least- A Socialite's Life

Kirsten Dunst ruins Islington. What a bitch- Celebrity Dirty Laundry

The Simple Life canceled. More importantly, those cereal Nazis brought back Count Chocula, FrankenBerry, and Boo Berry for like three weeks and then took it away again. So not cool- Cele|bitchy

Britney's sad ass in a thong and some fishnets. You shouldn't look, but you will- Hollywood Rag

Remember when Rose McGowan was pretty? Yea, you won't see any of that pretty here- ICYDK

Naked Heidi Klum! (Also known as "Headlines that draw search engine traffic")- Tasteful Society

Scarlett Johannsson to play the role of Jenna Jameson Scarlett Johannson will absolutely not be playing the role of Jenna Jameson- The Evil Beet

Paranoid delusions are SOOOOO cute: Britney thinks someone's gon' steal her babbies- poponthepop

Angelina says you can't say Shiloh out loud without her permission, or something- Faded Youth

Hayden Panettiere can't seem to be photographed in an appropriate manner EVER. Poor lamb- Dlisted

Finally, Something Worth Writing About

I apologize, dearies, for my brief absence from posting. After a three day weekend away from work I opted for a fourth day away from blogging yesterday, for no reason other than I had a lot of catching up to do (Paris out of the will! Nicole going to jail! Usher did...something but I don't care because I don't care about Usher!). Anyhoodle, I'm back in my usual limited capacity and pleased as punch to see the green light on The Rum Diary:

Johnny Depp will channel Hunter S. Thompson once again in Warner Independent's adaptation of "The Rum Diary."

Thesp is producing with Graham King, who acquired rights to Thompson's novel for his GK Films shingle and Depp's Infinitum Nihil outfit. Bruce Robinson ("Withnail and I") will write and direct the adaptation, which Film Engine is also producing.

Depp will play Paul Kemp, a freelance journo writing for a rundown newspaper in 1950s Puerto Rico and surrounded by a bunch of lost souls bent on self-destruction. The journo was 22 when he wrote the autobiographical novel and had yet to develop his trademark gonzo style. It was written in 1959 but not published until 1998.

Super duper, eh? I've been a longstanding supporter of all things Johnny Depp, and not just because of his brooding good looks or enviable man-sarongs. Depp's work has been steadfast in it's genius since the time he signed onto 21 Jumpstreet (I'll not argue the genius of Jumpstreet with you, if you don't get it then you never will). The same can be said for HST, sans Jumpstreet reference. Combined, this can never be a bad thing. I have no joke to make about any of this, say sorry. Let's watch some Fear and Loathing clips, shall we?







Source: Variety

Don't play a playa.

Entertainment Tonight is reporting that the man who tried to extort Tom Cruise, pictured above trying to steal Jack Nicholson's schtick, for some stolen wedding photos has been arrested by the FBI.

Cruise's rep said that the man himself is in Germany right now, so he doesn't technically have anything to do with this story. But nonetheless, one David Hans Schmidt reportedly contacted the Cruise family recently, offering to sell them the stolen pictures at exorbitant prices. SeaOrg... I mean... Cruise's people... then contacted the FBI and US Attorney's Office about the affair, leading to the arrest of the suspiciously German sounding culprit on Tuesday.

Make you own connection between the ethnic feel of the guy's name and the fact that Cruise is in Germany.

All the information that ET has, I have just passed on to you.

What's got my brow perked is the involvement of the FBI. Now, if this Schmidt character actually is in Germany, I can understand it. But if this is a domestic problem... isn't the FBI a little... overdoing it? I mean, these are wedding pictures, not the Maltese Falcon.

But, even setting that aside, you have to admire the balls Mr. Schmidt (I just like typing that name, for some reason) showed in trying to swindle the poster boy of a "religion" which charges its adherents thousands of dollars to purge alien ghosts from their bodies.

That's kind of like getting into a Bible passage quoting battle with the Pope, or a head-to-head skank-off with Paris Hilton. You're not only going to lose, but you're going to lose badly.




Source: Etonline

Enough Is Enough

I said with the title of my last post that I don't want to post about Lindsay anymore, and I've resolved that I'm not going to. I've drafted a pledge resolving not to give her any more attention, whether by posting about her, watching her movies, or by any other means. Here's the text of the thing (which you can find at this link):

To: Lindsay Lohan
WHEREAS you have repeatedly made a mockery of the very serious rehabilitation process;

WHEREAS you have shown flagrant disregard for the laws of the United States and for the safety of your fellow man;

WHEREAS you have repeatedly refused to accept any real responsibility for the ramifications of your self-destructive actions;

WHEREAS the community of filmmakers continues to cast you in movies despite your unconscionable behavior;

WHEREAS the tabloid and blogging community has focused a spotlight on you that makes the chance of truly private rehabilitation nearly impossible;

WE THE UNDERSIGNED do hereby pledge to no longer support your career, Ms. Lohan, until you join the community of responsible adults. We will not go to see your films in the theater, we will not rent your films, and we will not watch your films on television. It is our sincere belief that in order for a troubled young woman like you to exhibit any meaningful change, society must stop enabling you by paying you such endless attention. It is our sincere hope that a committed determination on the part of the public to ignore you will give you the time you need to change your life for the better.

Via: Don't Judge Me

Sincerely,
The Undersigned

So there you have it. Please, by all means, go and add your signature. Her new movie comes out tomorrow, but there are others in the works far into the future, and I'm tired of behavior like hers being rewarded.

I Don't Want to Post About Lindsay...

...but this piece is too bizarre and ridiculous to pass up. Evidently Lindsay's people are floating claims that she wasn't even driving the car when she was arrested for DUI.

Her uncle, Chris Sullivan, tells the New York Post that she "may well not have been driving the car," and "hopefully the truth will come out." Sullivan calls Tarin Graham, Lindsay's former assistant embroiled in the incident, "a problem individual and Lindsay was trying to help her out," however, Sullivan offered no alternate
explanation.

These explanations are making no sense. Her uncle, who wasn't there, says she wasn't driving the car. He says she was trying to help out her former assistant, whose mother may have been driving the car that police say was being chased around the parking lot, but that Lindsay says was chasing her around the parking lot. She had cocaine in her possession, but it wasn't hers. It's all somebody else's fault.

We all tried these excuses before, but they stop working after you turn about 14 years old, I think. "No, mom, the squirrel was dead when we found it! Those aren't our fireworks! They were in the dead squirrel's mouth when we found it! It was Josh's idea to even go look at the squirrel in the first place! I didn't even want to see it, but then the fireworks happened to catch on fire and blow the squirrel up, and it was aweso....I mean, it was disgusting!"

Source: TMZ

Which One Is Slumming?

TMZ has reported that America's favorite hooker (eat it, Julia Roberts), Paris Hilton, made out with some guy that used to go out with Mischa Barton. Fun true sidenote: writing for gossip blogs sometimes feels like writing for an underground middle school newspaper.

The scariest scene at Guy's karaoke night on Tuesday wasn't Paris "singing," it was her make-out session with ballsy Cisco Adler! A TMZ spy spotted Hilton and Mischa Barton's grungy ex-boyfriend kissing all over each other at the club last night, with Paris going so far as to give Adler a little lap dance.

Deciding whether 1) Paris Hilton singing or 2) those two reeking crotch pits intertwining is "scariest" is a task I'm nowhere near equipped for. I will say, however, that I'd rather see Ernest Borgnine do a naked jig than witness either of those two things.

The title of TMZ's article is "Paris Takes Mischa's Sloppy Seconds," meaning Paris is the one going low here. But I'm not so sure. Yeah, that guy in the hat may not be famous, rich, sober, educated, or properly groomed, but Paris Hilton is everything you just thought of when you read her name. And I'm betting nobody thought anything like "Great catch!" If that guy got a new look, went to college, and made it big, Paris Hilton would still have herpes.

Source: TMZ

Related Posts: Someone's Got a Valtrex Prescription Coming His Way...

The Death of Tammy Faye -or- How to punch out under the spotlight.

Thank you for that.. erm.. rousing(?) introduction, Sug. But yes, t'is I, Z-grade internet celebrity and snarkmaster to the stars, Ranheru Van Zant, busting all up in your face; not unlike an angry black man hatching out of a basketball in a vaguely racist Gatorade commercial.

Or, you know.. Ron Jeremy on money shot day.

But speaking of the Hedgehog, let's holy-crap-get-to-business by mentioning the passing of a friend of his.

Tammy Faye Baker-Messner, pictured above in better days when she was only "normal" scary looking, appeared on Larry King Live last week to announce her offer of a reward for information leading to the arrest of a young Kansas girl named Dorothy Gale (and her little dog, too), then promptly dropped dead over the weekend. For those of you who missed Tammy's Larry King piece, let me inform you of everything you need to know about it:

She looked like death warmed over. She weighed 65 pounds, and sounded like Michael Jackson after a neutering. In fact, I'm fairly certain she was already dead, and it just took her until after the interview to realize it.

Now, Tammy Faye died of cancer. I'm somewhat familiar with cancer, since several people I care about have had bouts with it. Is that gonna stop me from making jokes, though?

Hell no.

But my issue here isn't with Tammy Faye, but with her timing. She goes on Larry King, gets her skeletal, nightmare-inducing-for-an-entire-generation-of-America's-children face plastered all over the "entertainment news" programs, then JUST HAPPENS to croak while everyone's talking about her?

This strikes me as a bit shady. I can't help but picture her going down in an "I'm still big, it's the X that got small!" style, hand on the forehead drama queen pose, while her dutiful husband/butler/whoever lovingly and firmly placed the pillow over her face while weeping silent tears and mouthing "Goodbye, mistress. Goodbye, my old friend." over and over.

But even more mystifying.. why were entertainment news programs even covering this? It's not like Tammy Faye had a hot new album about to drop or anything. She was a skinny, tumor ridden lich in an eye-jarring wardrobe whose only real claim to fame was mascara falling down her face like twin waterfalls and her ex-husband boffing the help while embezzling the "church" they'd worked so hard to build.

When a "celebrity" death is as well timed as this, you can't help but wonder if it wasn't some sort of stunt. It's just like how Anna Nicole ODed while "mourning" for months on end over her dead son, who just happened to have the SAME NAME her something-month-old daughter had. I mean, come on.. if you're dumb enough to name your kids "Daniel Lynn" and "Danni Lynn", I'm pretty sure one dying on the day the other's born is God's way of keeping you from spreading around the stupid too much.

And is it just me, or did the whole Anna Nicole-Daniel mother/son relationship seem to have a bit of an... incestuous.. funk.. about it? Maybe they were just really close, but god damn, it sure seemed to me like something weird was going on there.

But just like Tammy Faye.. Anna Nicole was something of a non-issue, until a sudden media frenzy erupted about her shortly before her death. Tammy Faye was a TV schiester who hadn't seen the spotlight in 20 years, and Anna Nicole was a vapid cum dumpster who wore out her welcome 10 years ago. Their deaths should have been/should be little more than a footnote, but instead, we got/will get months of coverage detailing every moment of their miserable final weeks.

Shady conspiracy by the entertainment news industry, or strange coincidence? You decide.

But hey, at least Tammy and Anna had the good graces to make the news, then die. Unlike Lindsey/Britney/Paris/Nicole... who just keep going and going and going like some kind of crack filled Energizer Ho-bunnies.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is: R.I.P Tammy Faye, just please.. take your media spotlight with you.

Our Newest Addition

Be prepared for some seriously cynical bastardhood (bastardliness?) with our newest judge, the inexplicably named Ranheru van Zant. Mel and I got to know him as Ranger, but he's evidently progressed to his second stage. And now, with a Walker, Texas Ranger reference AND an oblique video game reference, I'm going to leave before this post explodes in dorkiness. Enjoy.

Paula Abdul Sucks

Paula Abdul is as upset about being fired from the Bratz movie as those of us with taste are upset that there is going to be a Bratz movie. I was at Mel's house this weekend, and she made me watch a couple of episodes of Hey Paula (which, I must admit, is a pretty fabulous trainwreck), and the episode came on where Paula was informed that she was fired from the Bratz movie. As is typical of Paula Abdul, she cried about it, and even started questioning God. But wait, it gets better.

Abdul had taken credit for being choreographer, costume designer and exec producer, but "Bratz" folks claim she "was not ever really a part of the movie ... there was no way that was going to work."

So not only was she fired from the movie, but she never actually had anything to do with the movie in the first place? Having seen a couple of episodes of her inexplicable show, I have to say that I believe the Bratz producers on this score, much as it pains me to agree about anything with people who have anything to do with this movie. But Paula Abdul is insane. This has been extensively documented. She probably didn't even get a call from the producers. I'd be willing to bet that her phone doesn't even really work. It's like one of those Fisher Price jobs, that plays beeps when you press the buttons. And holds candy.

Source: TMZ

Drunken Nicole

I'm insanely pleased with my inbox some days, gang. Thanks to the folks at dailyfreegames.com for today's (fine, yesterday's...but I was BUSY) at-work distraction. Help Nicole get home safely! (I keep running people over...I suck so bad at this.) Remember, kids, what's good fun on the internet gets you TMZ's front page in the real world. Designate a driver!



Okay, the player is WAY too big to embed here and still maintain our ad space, but you can still find it here.

This is Not Okay

I can get over Kim Kardashian posing for Playboy, because you knew it was going to happen eventually. Anyone who took such time and dedication to release their own sex tape and then allowed themselves to be photographed in the company of Paris Hilton is clearly dedicated to bringing themselves to pseudo-celebrity status by any means possible. But there comes a point when one crosses the line on the way to tabloid stardom, and Kim Kardashian has crossed that line:

Kim Kardashian just loves to get naked for the cameras. The voluptuous daughter of O.J. Simpson lawyer Robert Kardashian recently stripped down for Playboy. "The photos have been already shot. I don't know if they show everything," a source tells us. Presumably, the snaps won't show as much as the notorious sex tape Kardashian made with rapper Ray J. Meanwhile, Kim was partying Saturday with Denise Richards at the Playboy Mansion at a benefit for the Nicole Brown Foundation.

I'm okay with everything I read there except for that last line. And for once, it's not the Denise Richards portion of the sentence that's irking me. No, it's the NICOLE BROWN FOUNDATION portion of it. In case you're not following, Kim Kardashian is daughter to Robert Kardashian. Robert Kardashian was one of O.J. Simpson's attorneys. O.J. Simpson killed Nicole Brown. What better way to honor the spirit of the woman and raise awareness about domestic violence then to display Robert Kardashian's paycheck from the 1994 murder trial in the form of his daughter's plastic ass at an event for the cause? I don't know who put together the guest list for this thing, but I hope like hell they're being beaten by one of Kendra's shoes right now.

P.S. Baby pandas are better than WENN photos of Kim Kardashian in front of the Nicole Brown Foundation banner any day.

Source: NY Post

Johnny Depp's On That Boat Again

There's a story here, guys, but I don't really care about it. Johnny Depp and his longtime girlfriend Vanessa Parawhocaresshesnotgoodenoughforhimanyway are off on a boat somewhere in the Mediterranean, where he's fabulous and topless in a man-sarong and she's...you know, sort of confusing. And that's the extent of the article I read. Then I stared blankly at my monitor for half an hour while I imagined the smell of his chest. I think it's sort of coconutty with a hint of red wine...and just the tiniest bit of sweat, but not bad sweat...good sweat. I'm reasonably certain that's the only permissible response to the image of a shirtless sarong-clad Johnny Depp. Also acceptable would be a long wistful sigh and a shifting in one's chair. After consulting with an expert on the subject (my friend Tasha) I have found that the following is also an appropriate reaction:

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
no beer belly, just enough muscle definition to run my tongue across....
i'm sorry are we live?
are we still on the air?

That pretty much sums it up, gang.

Source: Daily Mail

Drew Carey Alive, Employed

Drew Carey, pictured above as a fourth-grader dressed as Drew Carey, officially confirmed on last night's Late Show that he's the new host of the CBS time capsule The Price is Right. Carey will take over hosting duties from Bob Barker, who has hosted the show for the last four thousand years.

There was much discussion about who exactly would be getting the job over the past few months, and even if Rosie O'Donnell was never the most likely choice, she was always the loudest - she called out show bigwigs in an interview for not approaching her, presumably in an effort to cause her fans to pressure CBS. I'm sure it would've worked great, had she any fans. Or talent, or value as a human. No joke here, just taking an opportunity to say fuck you, Rosie.

Oh yeah, Drew Carey. I care much less about ever watching The Price is Right again because of this. The fact that going from an 83 year old man to a comedian around half his age makes the show less interesting is a testament both to Bob Barker being awesome and Drew Carey being one boring, unfunny guy. Seriously, I'd rather hang out with that 9 year old dressed as him than with him.

Source: TMZ

Related Posts: Bob Barker Hates Rosie O'Donnell

Lindsay Lohan...well you know already, don't you?

This is daunting, to say the least. When I started this post around 9:30 this morning, everything was all brandy-new and there wasn't much to report, aside from the drinking, the driving, the cocaine, the arrest, and the incredibly obvious joke. But now...now there's SO much that I don't even know where to start. TMZ's entire front page is pretty much all Lindsay now. And it's gotten depressing. At the end of the day, her maximum sentence could be six years. Poor lamb. I'm tired just thinking about it all, actually. So instead of putting forth any further effort, I give you yet another chat log:

Mel: I'm not having a good day.
Sug: At least you didn't get arrested for drunk driving with cocaine for the second time. There's always that.
Mel: That's always a plus.
God bless her, she makes it too damn easy.
Sug: She'll die soon.
Mel: We're buying those pictures, I don't care how much they cost.
She could face six years in jail.
What will we blog about?
Sug: Lindsay? Boy howdy, that's some serious time. That's a hell of a lot more than Paris's 45 days.
As for what we'll blog about, I think it's obvious. The Cryptkeeper and Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey.
Mel: And she's back in rehab. The statement from her rep is classic. He may as well have just said "cocaine's a hell of a drug" to get the laugh.
Sug: Yeah, just saw that. I really don't get why the SCRAM didn't pick it up.
Mel:...because the only person monitoring it was Lindsay.
Sug: And by that, you mean she was in a bathing suit and monitoring the anklet like a fucking accessory.
Mel: Did you see what Leno is doing?
Rob Schneider is coming on in her place, dressed as her.
Sug: Wow. Leno might actually be worth watching for once, you're saying?
Also, she's got two assistants? What?
Mel: Paula Abdul has two assistants too.
Three now, I think.
From what I can tell, one of them is just there to be yelled at when Paula looks bad.
Leno is SO worth watching tonight.
Sug: I might have to be playing Guitar Hero: 80s Edition, though.
Mel: That does seem a bit more important.

Britney Spears Isn't Classy, Sane, Sanitary

Britney Spears is the trashiest whore I've ever heard of. And this time, I've got evidence. Besides the picture above, of course, which is evidence enough for a simple charge of "trashy whore." Upgrading to "trashiest whore I've ever heard of," though, requires some extraordinary support. Here it is:

At one point, Britney ordered up some fried chicken to munch on. We're told after she chowed down, she wiped her hands on a several thousand dollar Gucci dress that she was wearing for the shoot, staining it with grease. Yuck! One of her dogs also needed some assistance in the housebreaking department. Our on-set spy says that the dog pooped all over the floor, and Brit used (what else?) -- a Chanel dress to clean it up!

There's other stuff about mood swings and how she had her "skanky" friends do her hair and makeup, but I think fried chicken and dogshit sums it all up pretty nicely, don't you? In fact, I think that's a pretty good metaphor for Britney in general. Let me give you an example of how to use it:

Idiot: Did you hear about Britney's latest antics?
Me: Aw, that bitch ain't nothin' but fried chicken an' dogshit.

Just make sure to give me attribution when you use it, y'all.

Source: TMZ

Aren't Roasts Supposed to Feature Tasteless Humor?

The roast of Flavor Flav took place this weekend in Burbank, California. Mel and I were invited to cover the red carpet, but sadly, I was in Southern California a week too early to make it. Dammit. I probably would have enjoyed it. Anyway, Jimmy Kimmel crossed a line that made Comedy Central censors furrow their brows disapprovingly.

During last night's four-letter fest in honor of the "Flavor of Love" star, Kimmel was poking fun at the fact that Flav has several children with several different women, when he said that "Chris Benoit is a better father than you."

Tasteless? Of course. But Jesus, isn't that what these roasts are all about? Is it only OK if you toss out curses and racial slurs with reckless abandon? At Hugh Hefner's roast, not even a month after 9/11, Gilbert Gottfried said he couldn't get a direct flight to New York because the plane had to stop at the Empire State Building first. That aired. Is the Chris Benoit thing so much worse? Maybe it's because it's such a personal thing, and not something that we collectively need to get over.

Maybe (and I'm pretty sure this is it) this post ended up being not so much funny as reflective. If you have a problem with this, shut up. It's a crazy world out there, folks.

Source: TMZ

Al Gore Jr Is A Hustler

Al Gore III, son of future First Emperor of the Moon Al Gore, was picked up for drug possession a little while back. Details were sketchy, just that he had some something in his car. But People ran an article on Friday that provided some more details.

Al Gore's son was charged with felony drug-possession charges and lesser offenses related to his July 4 speeding stop, authorities said Friday. And a law enforcement source tells PEOPLE that Gore had 140 Vicodin pills and "dozens" of other prescription drugs.

If convicted on all charges, Albert Gore III faces up to three years and eight months in prison. But state law makes him eligible for a drug diversion program instead of incarceration, according to the Orange County District Attorney's Office.

I heard he had pills, although I wasn't aware he was opening a junior pharmacy. But hey, kudos to him for possibly not even getting any prison time if convicted on all charges. I live in Trussville (pronounced -vull), Alabama, and I'd be taken out to the boonies and cornholed to death if I got pulled over with that kind of shit on me.

Source: People

Someone's Got a Valtrex Prescription Coming His Way...

Tyler Atkins, bless him, opened up in an interview with Who.com about his relationship with Paris Hilton:

"She is a really smart, amazing girl and we share similar interests"

"We have been hanging out at the beach, talking about fashion and it has been lots of fun," Atkins said Thursday. "She's a cool girl and we're having a really great time enjoying each other's company."

Awww, he likes coloring, rainbows, and puppies dressed up like people, too! Isn't it just the sweetest thing ever when two like minds come together to form the worst possible genetic combination imaginable for offspring? Doesn't Tyler Atkins have any friends that could maybe pull him away from his busy day of making sandcastles and peeing his name in the sand for a brief tete-a-tete and explain the meaning behind phrases like, "There is no cure for herpes, and even with treatment, it may be possible to spread herpes"? Even my dog would know better than to get involved with Paris Hilton, and he thinks the litter box is a buffet.


Source: People

Judge This...

Lindsay Ruins Everything- Celebrity Dirty Laundry

Posh's legs are nasty. Wait, no, they're photoshopped. No, hang on...they're not photoshopped. Fuck, I really hate photoshop- Cele|bitchy

Pagans threaten Homer Simpson with ritual rain ceremony. Seriously- Fatback and Collards

Yea...do all your own publicity, Brit. Make a video while you're at it. There's no way this could go wrong. You're a star, kid, a star!- ICYDK

Stephanie Tanner got married. Why the hell are we talking about Stephanie Tanner anyways? My IMDB page is bigger than hers- The Evil Beet

Sweet Moses on crisp toast, one of them Hills kids wants to sing now- poponthepop

The Cruises plan a ritual sacrifice in honor of the Beckhams- A Socialite's Life

I want to make some sort of joke about King King raping Naomi Watts, but whatever. I can't figure out what the gestation period would have to be for that joke to work, so just check her out looking effing HUGE- The Blemish

Justin Timberlake opens a restaurant, every blog in the known universe makes the same pulled pork joke- Yeeeah!

Orlando Bloom Has a Date, Moustache

Orlando Bloom and Naomie Harris went on a date in London last night. Um...that's pretty much it. That's her up there. Apparently she was in Pirates of the Caribbean (one of them? Two of them? All of them?) but I can't say I remember her. I thought the bitchy dancer who finally embraced her emotions and took over the starring role in Jonathan's ballet after Maureen confronted her inner demons, her bulemia, and her mother at the end of Center Stage was in Pirates. I guess that wasn't her after all. Whatever, I was masturbating. Johnny Depp. Nuff said.

The pair reportedly became close on the set of Pirates Of The Caribbean and Naomie, 30, was a shoulder to cry on when Orlando, also 30, split from longterm girlfriend Kate Bosworth last year.

A source says: "She scored points with Orlando by being his friend first. He admitted recently that he's interested in more than a friendship with Naomie."

And she feels the same as she gushed: "Orlando - I love him! He was really sweet, and I was like, 'Yeah, you're the hottest one'."

You read that, right? She said that to this guy:



That's not okay. That's not okay at all. Even if the pool for comparison were the Skekses elders, one of them was definitely hotter than Orlando Bloom. Yea, Chamberlain...I'm lookin at you, baby.

Source: Daily Mail

Lindsay is Above The Law

According to, um, everyone who got around to this before I did, Lindsay was booked for her May DUI yesterday afternoon:

In one of the most under the radar moves she's ever made, Lindsay Lohan quietly walked into the Beverly Hills PD station late Thursday afternoon to be officially arrested for her May DUI.

According to the official Los Angeles Sheriff's Department website, Lohan was held in custody for about an hour around 4:00 PM, until she was released on $30,000 bail.

All of this is supposed to be routine for a first time DUI, but c'mon...don't these people watch the news? Or read my blog, for that matter? This is Lindsay Lohan. This is the girl who left rehab and taped a cassette player to her ankle giggling "hehehe, now they'll never suspect me." Her own recognizance? The only plan worse than this would be to release her into the custody of Britney Spears. And what's with celebrities just waltzing into the police station months after their offenses instead of being cuffed and thrown in the paddy wagon like the rest of the underage drinking world? DUI aside, let's pretend THAT didn't even happen, let's go with just the underage portion: when I was in college and our local bar was raided (often) anyone with a fake ID or no ID was thrown in a cramped van and booked on site. There was no "Yea...we're gonna have to ask you to, um, come on down to the station...you know, when you have a chance. This year would be okay, but if not, you know...I mean it'd be great if you could." Is Lumberg running things? Fuck.

Source: TMZ

O'Connell Weds Romijn, Dashes Dreams

Jerry O'Connell and Rebecca Romijn-Stamos were married this past Saturday. O'Connell, shown above just having lost his comb, somehow played the lead in Kangaroo Jack and is now married to a really, really gorgeous woman. Who seems pretty cool. Making this development worse for us average schlubs who dream one day to date women who are out of our league is the fact that O'Connell was also the star of Joe's Apartment. I'll assume that I don't even need to mention Tomcats.

Don't get me wrong. O'Connell seems like a decent guy. All I'm saying is that Rebecca Romijn-Stamos is hot. Like, really, really hot. Even with all that blue crap all over her like in X-Men, she's ridiculously, astoundingly hot. The first Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue I ever bought had her on the cover. It's on my bookshelf right now, ten or so years later. True story. Anyway, I'm just trying, as any man would (and as every man should) to make it seem like no movie career is very much preferable, in terms of attractiveness, to a shitty movie career.

Source: Baltimore Sun

Britney in Her Panties. Ugh. Just Ugh.

I was going to continue ignoring all of the Britney madness that has taken over this week, but while standing in line at Starbucks I had an epiphany: the best way to get the increased traffic we need (don't get me wrong, we love the thousand or so of you who read us, but we're thinking about our retirements from the real world here, so we've gotta think big) is to have Britney Spears slap me. Slap me in public. And hopefully call me some names while a TMZ camera rolls tape on the entire thing. So, really, while I'm entirely bored with her as well as her overexposed ass/vagina/breasts, I'm gonna have to take one for the team here. Also, my cat seems to think we should be taking responsibility for this girl's actions, and who am I to go against the wishes of my cat? He's a noted scholar.



So, here we have Britney Spears going for a swim in Malibu. And who am I to begrudge the girl a dip to escape the heat? I assume my problem with this is evident to the lot of you: them there are panties. Sheer ones. And a very pink bra. And $3 hair extensions. And Bono's glasses. See, none of this is okay. And while I give her points for being in decent shape at the moment, and additional points for none of the visible skidmarks I expected of the rearview from this little publicity stunt, I must deduct all points for going swimming in front of the paparrazzi in her underthings. Because for someone who can't remember panties when she's wearing the shortest of skirts and climbing out of any number of automobiles (again, in front of the photogs)I find it hard to believe that she just happened to be wearing underwear (clean ones, at that) on this particular day and she just happened to be okay with wearing JUST said knickers in front of the camera. And while I'm just as big a fan of all the crazy as the next person, I'm NOT one to enjoy blatant publicity-desperate behavior such as this. It's bad enough that I listened to no less than 25 different clips of your new "single" this morning trying to determine which one just might be the real deal, but this is going too far. No, Britney, just no. I may be allowing Posh to play me like a fiddle at the moment, but I draw the line when your attempts at grabbing my attention also force me to examine the hq photos zoomed in 200% while I look for a stray pubic hair to ridicule. Indeed, I draw the line.


Source: Daily Mail

Roland is Judging You: Britney Spears

Hello my pets. It is I, Roland, on this the luckiest of eves: the lady has left the laptop open and finally my voice can be heard! Yes, stumble off to your room my petite barefoot nymph. Watch your home improvement programs and leave me to my people, my fans, my love. Ahhh, I've longed to reach out to you, oh mighty interweb. There is so much I have to share, so much you can learn from me, so much you must take forth unto the world to better it for all. First, and this is most important, stop talking to your dogs. Please, for the love of the mighty woodland goddess (I've met her) just stop. You have no idea how unbearable a conceited dog can be. Day in and day out the beast sharing occupancy with me here runs about in circles after his own tail panting "I'm the cutest puppy ever, and I'm a good boy, and I'm getting SO big, look, look at me eat the bug, hey kitty kitty kitty I ate the bug, c'mere let me bite your neck kitty kitty kitty, c'mere, I'm the cutest puppy ever..." and so on. Imagine. Heed my advice if you are also with feline in your home, or ask not where your liquor goes when you arrive home each day. I drank it, see? Daddy drinks because you're bad.

Secondly, I ask that you as members of the human race do something about this:



It's really just not acceptable to allow your ilk to go around looking like this, now is it? I don't know if you're aware, but not all domestic animals have as much access to information about humans as I am blessed enough to have been privy. Aside from the excessive number of computers in this home, I have also had several hundred hours of marathon viewings of Project Runway and America's Next Top Model to mold my impression of humans. Additionally, the lady drivels on about this sort of thing on the telephone for hours on end, and occasionally to me as though she doesn't believe me when I pretend to sleep. Not all housecats are so lucky, however, and I'd truly hate for today to be the day that they all discover the internet and draw their conclusions based upon the unfortunate Ms. Spears-Federline. Would you want your cat believing that you condone that head ornamentation? Are you comfortable knowing that your fuzzy feline companion will have no choice but to conclude that you allowed a lumpy midriff to be exposed via a button-popping hand-tied crop-sleeved poly-blend of a mess with the hint of a turquoise Very Sexy™ Push Up bra beneath? Are you really of the belief that your sphinx-like mouser will continue to adore you if they see that you were approving of the Forever 21 cuffed shorts with accompanying unnecessary hip chain? And can you honestly tell me that you'll sleep well another night in your life if you have to look into the eyes of your domesticated cougar and know that he blames those befeathered and bedazzled disasters she's strapped to her feet on you? Oh my sweet poppets, if you cannot do it for yourself, do it for your cats.

Reality T.V. Overload: Victoria Beckham: Coming to America: I'm Done With All The Colons Now

I did my best to be as cynical as possible as I sat down to watch Victoria Beckham: Coming to America. I really did. With the press she's received as of late, I'm simply dying to hate her. She had her little bit about bloggers being sad and hiding behind their computers (I still haven't been contacted by her people. I'm waiting waiting waiting for the day, because she can question me all she wants about what I've said about her so long as she'll take me shopping.) Just today the headlines screamed of how she was calling the women of Hollywood rather poorly dressed, and I stayed away from that story for a reason: because I don't run out to the store in just sweats, either. I'm rather partial to looking the part when I leave the house. And the part, kiddies, is fabulous. You just never know when the paparazzi are looking. And while I myself don't really, you know, HAVE that problem...I do like to pretend. Try it when you run down to the corner store tomorrow. Duck behind trees, wear dark glasses, look pouty. It's fun, and I won't mark points against Posh for doing it when she is, in fact, inflicted with this actual issue. This is looking to be one of those long posts, isn't it? I'll wait if you want to grab a drink or something.

Right, so this special of Victoria's...if taken for what it is (a well staged run of events to introduce the many faces of Posh to America) it's rather well done. So long as you don't lose sight of the fact that it is, in fact, all staged. Which isn't that hard to do. Because it's all obviously and unapologetically staged. I particularly enjoyed her encounter with Perez Hilton, where he hesitates to honestly tell her what he thinks of her and she then forces her breasts in his face and jokes about her aversion to being photographed with food, lest she tarnish her image. Goddammit, she's amusing. And just like she said about Perez, I hate the fact that SHE made ME laugh. How is this happening? I'm cynical and mean and I don't like celebrities, remember? Even my cat is judging me from across the room. Oh how did this happen? Halfway through I'm asked for my judgment, and I pause in between bites of my Chocolate Lucky Charms and Cookie Crisp (mix your cereals. Trust me) and ponder this: What DO I think?

"I'm not entirely sure. It depends, really. Is she really this obnoxious, or is she funny with an incredible sense of the ironic? And, if I were that filthy rich, would I be as obnoxious, if not moreso?" This was the question I posed in response. And bless my fella's heart, his response draws my final judgment:

"Babe, I say this because I love you...you'd be far more obnoxious."

And there we have it. She's hilarious and fantastic. Sure, she sunbathes in her heels, but SO WOULD I if I had the body of Posh and the exposure of a 24/7 camera crew. And she speaks so much truth! I would die before wearing ballerina pumps, too! I would hire a frumpy and unattractive assistant, as well. I would say "major" as often as Posh if I could pull it off in that fabulous British manner. And I swear by God and all the blessed fishes, I also asked if I might approve my DMV photo. She's amusing in the manner that only a pretty girl can be, saying snarky little things like "Oh, I'm watching you too, Phil" to the gentleman tester at the DMV when warned thrice about cheating on her test. God Bless the Beckhams. I know the UK is good and sick of them, and I'm rather pleased to be taking them on. I rather wish Posh's show would carry on as initially scheduled, even if it were only the five more intended episodes, I have no doubt that they would be fabulous. As Victoria, in my final judgment, is indeed so very fabulous. Have I been duped by her cleverly constructed traffic violations and drunken outings with the aging socialites of Beverly Hills? Eh...probably. But the best thing about having no scruples is that I make no qualms about calling her a bulemic cryptkeeper next week if she does something to merit a good flogging. For now, however, I'll be adding the words "major" and "knickers" to my vernacular and working on my smoky eye technique. Thank you, England!

Update: I'm already receiving texted backlash for this judgment, but I'm not changing a word. Posh is an international treasure. Now if you'll excuse me, me and my impeccable taste as well as keen judge of character are off to watch reruns of Hey Paula!

Inside the Judge's Chambers: The Genesis

And now, for the first text messaged episode of "Inside the Judge's Chambers..."

Sug: Name of blog: Who Farted? I don't know. Maybe not. Don't judge me.
Mel: Oh I'm judging you alright.
Sug: How about "Don't Judge Me"?
Mel: I actually rather like that.
Sug: Me too. A lot. Do we have it?
Mel: I'm checking to see if the domain is available.
Sug: Lemme know
Mel: Taken
Sug: Fuckstein.
Mel: Fuckstein.com is available
Sug: Maybe not. What about dontjudgeme.net?
Mel: .net is available. I'll see if blogger supports it.
Sug: Is that the no brainer? I think it is.
Mel: I don't know what that means. Should I buy it?
Sug: Are we satisfied enough with the name, and does blogger support it?
Mel: Yes and Yes
Sug: Then let's do it.
Mel: We own it.
Sug: Sweet. This shit just got real.

Remy Ma Caps A Bitch

Remember "Lean Back"? That was a fun song. So catchy, and everyone could do the dance! Anyways, one of the rappers from it was arrested yesterday for shooting a woman in New York City's Meatpacking District (heh). Remy Ma argued with the woman (a friend of hers for over 15 years, according to reports), accused her of stealing $2000 from her purse, shot her, drove off in an SUV, crashed it, and ran away. She stayed missing while police went on a door-to-door search until yesterday evening when she turned herself in.

I'm not really up on what rap fans like these days. This could be awesome for her or pretty terrible, depending on what passes for being gangster enough to sell a record. Is it gangster to try to kill a friend for two grand that you can't find based on...you know, nothing? Two grand that you probably spent on whatever fucked you up enough to go that buck nutty with a gun? That kind of stuff doesn't filter down to semi-rural central Alabama.

Oh, and for giggles, I present to you a quote that I found from Remy Ma a few years ago.

"At the end of the day, I’m a girl. It’s not like I roll up and shoot up everybody.”

UPDATE: Okay, news of her arraignment came down as I was writing this. She pleaded not guilty, ballsy for someone who turned themselves in for the crime. She's facing charges of attempted murder, assault, and weapon possession.

Source: Newsday

David Beckham Has a Blog, Can Type

Hold my calls, people, I've found myself a new celebrity blog. And not just any celebrity, but our brand spankin new celebrity, David Beckham. If you're not already obsessed with reading the blogs of random celebrities, then you should be. In fact, I may make it a project this weekend to put together a list of my favorite celebrity blogs for you. Of course, now that I've said that I am positive that I won't get around to doing so and it'll be just one more empty promise that I'll only feel mild guilt about. So shut up already, because really, who the fuck do you think you are, telling me what to do? Huh?

Right...here's David Beckham's blog, and while there's only his introductory post at the moment, I'm so super duper excited to check back every day. I can't wait until he gets drunk after a huge fight with Posh one night and things start to get real. Away with me, darlings, into the realm of possibilities:

Piss it, I'm so stinking sick of this twat. Katie KATE Holmes has been hiding in me basement for weeks now wearing the cleaning lady's knickers. I told V she had to get her out by week's end or I'd be renting out a flat for meself until she left. V took a run at me but I distracted her with me keys, and now I'm locked in the pool house. And V's crazy if she thinks I won't ring Tom to come and get his bird out of me basement, because I will. Bloody hell, either the cryptkeeper's hollering at the window or V lost interest in the keys. Usually takes her an hour to look away from something shiny, must find a new trick. Note to self: purchase lifesize leather-clad Karl Lagerfeld wax doll for V to chat with. Right, I'm off. I should have taken me chances with Lesbian Spice...

So You Think You Can...dress like a deranged genie and lip sync?

I try to be honest with you guys, even about my most embarrassing obsessions. You know of my love for really bad reality television. You know how I yearn for Harry Potter's kiss. You know that I watch The Ghost Whisperer. Well, maybe you didn't know that yet, but now you do and I'm not ashamed--Jennifer Love Hewitt has the most amazing yet confusing wardrobe, and who WOULDN'T want to watch a young antiques dealer help lost souls finish their earthly business and then cross over to the other side all while draped entirely in winter white, right down to her winter white over the knee boots, smack dab in the middle of summer? What I'm saying is: watch it.

As you well know, on the list of my terrible reality t.v. tivo list is So You Think You Can Dance. Last night would have been entirely wondrous for me (Cedric and Shauna finally get the boot! Danny does amazing leaps that force me to question the wheareabouts of his genitals! An opening number from Hairspray! The cast of Hairspray desperately trying to get into the two second camera shot of them in the audience!) if it weren't for the inclusion of Hilary Duff. I was mildly interested in hearing a song off of her new album, as I hear it's ripe with hatred of Nicole Richie and mourning for Joel Madden. That mild interest disappeared as soon as she walked on stage wearing a genie costume turned down by Christina Aguilera in 2000, and for good reason. Hot pink, honey? She then proceeded to "sing" (lip sync) while every so often pointing her hands off in this direction or that, randomly touching her face, or twitching her hips in the manner of a horse swatting a fly with a tail. But she has no tail, see, so methinks she was "dancing." And "dancing" such as this would not have even allowed her into episode one of The Pussycat Dolls Presents: The Search For The Next Doll, I can tell you that for free. Not to mention that she looks entirely bored, and bored is not a look that is appealing to the masses. As Nigel pointed out to Danny and Anya, there is something MISSING here and you must find a way to connect with the audience, lest you wish to find yourself in the bottom three every week. Nigel is wise, sugar. Maybe if you had looked above the mark you clearly set your gaze upon on the ground in front of you, you would have noticed that Wade Robson is in the audience! Perk up! It looks like you are in desperate need of a choreographer, and while Wade likely has better things to do (looking pensive and intense while he receives praise for his choreography in the manner one expects to see of those receiving the Nobel Prize in Chemistry or the Franklin Medal comes to mind) maybe if you're nice he'll help you out so you can move both of your arms at the same time. Imagine!

Elisha Cuthbert Jumps on Cars

As I sat digging for content this morning, I came across a headline stating that Elisha Cuthbert almost died. Instantly I thought, "Oh my Bob, I know she hung around with Paris but I was entirely willing to forgive her that because she's adorable and well dressed most (MOST) of the time and while I hate her for being so damn lovable and making me feel empathy for a porn star in that damned movie (aside: why are all they all called porn stars? They can't ALL be stars) I mostly enjoy her and this is just awful awful awful news!" That's what I get for passing judgment before reading the whole story. Behold:

Canadian Cuthbert says, "I almost got killed. We're walking along the street and I'm an idiot because the light turns green and a van screeches (to a halt). I walked past the van and realized, 'Oh my God, I'm in the middle of an intersection and they've got a green light and I decided to cross.' As soon as I pass the van, a Mercedes Benz is about to clip me in the knees, and I'm like, 'I'm about to die.'

"So all of a sudden you freeze and think to yourself, `Can I outrun it? No. Am I going to break my legs? Probably.' And what do I do? This is so cool of me because you realize the kind of person you are. I leaped up onto the car and I bounced and I flew all the way across the intersection. And I land right on my butt in the middle of the intersection. 'Am I dead? No I'm not dead. Do I have any bones broken? No. Purse still intact.'"

Seriously. Seriously? Seriously...you didn't almost die, hun. You jumped on a car. Which, honestly, that'd be so cool if you weren't on about how you almost died when you (and your accessories) walked away unscathed. I don't think that's called "almost dying" so much as it's called "jumping upon moving traffic." I understand that you're considerably under-exposed at the moment, but you're channeling the worst possible parts of Clueless to snag some press, and it's not entirely becoming. Sure, some random guys hung you over a balcony, but whose fault was that? Learn how to pick a decent guy out of the crowd, for crying out loud, and you won't have to deal with the sort who hang you from your midsection in the middle of your shopping oasis. But then to go on about your "near death experience" when you know good and goddamn well that poor Cher was just held at gunpoint after she got out of Elton's car in the Valley? A car that she was only in because YOU were too dense to understand that you ought to ride with him instead? A car that she had to remove herself from because he spoke lowly of you? Oh, it's just so low. So so low. Cher's handbag and dress didn't survive HER near death experience, now did they? You, Elisha, are cold-hearted.


Source: Starpulse

Bouncers Have Always Been Dicks, It Seems

While history has stated that Jim Morrison died of heart failure in his Paris home, a new book penned by friend Sam Bernett, who owned the club Rock and Roll Circus, tells a different tale. According to the new tell-all, Morrison may have died from heart failure, but it wasn't in HIS bathroom:

Bernett's book...(available only in Bernett's native French!) alleges that Morrison was found slumped over in the club's mucky men's bathroom, and club bouncers dragged his dead body back to Morrison's apartment. Bernett's story was backed up by former Circus employee Patrick Chauvel, who says he was present the night Morrison was carried out.

Wow. That's, um...that's gotta be against the law, right? Tampering with an investigation? Dragging a corpse through Paris? Something? France...you have laws about this stuff or what? This is just like that time two years ago at Top Dog when I passed out in the bathroom and hit my head on the toilet, then awoke and commenced a violent up-chucking session only to be carried out by several bouncers while I screamed about their racist practices. Sure, we were all caucasian, but I couldn't find the proper words to express that they were being un-American. Because to me, the American thing to do would have been to call an ambulance for the poor girl who passed out after having her drink tampered with (I can hold me gin, people, especially when the only gin in me is half a martini). But Top Dog doesn't roll like that. No, Top Dog carries you out and puts you in the arms of your drunk friend and hopes you find your way home, and cares not if you have to wake up early the following morn to teach yet another friend the art of walking in four inch heels. So fuck Top Dog...and also this is nothing like what happened to Jim Morrison, save for the fact that we were both 27 when we were dragged from a club. But I wasn't dead. And I wasn't a rock star. And no matter how hard I try, I can't get anyone to call me The Lizard King. I'm so sad now.

Source: TMZ

Oh You Poor Poor Poor Bastard

One would think that if one were in the number one movie in America that life would be going pretty damn well. And for everyone else in Transformers, including the ill-fated Decepticons, the summer is indeed going very well. But not for Josh Duhamel. No, not for Josh Duhamel at all:

The hunk not only has the No. 1 movie in the nation, "Transformers," he's just installed a stripper pole at home so live-in girlfriend Fergie can entertain him with a little bump and grind. "Fergie is taking lessons, but she won't get on it until she knows what she's doing, 'cause she doesn't want to look stupid,"

Raise your hand if you just threw up a little. Come on, get 'em up there. Fergie's gonna...she's gonna "bump" and "grind." Naked. Ewwwww. And Josh Duhamel...he LIKES it. Am I the only one who sees what's going on here? I bet Louise Miller sees what's happening clear as day. Yea, you're damn right she does, because Louise Miller pulled this same trip on Brad Powell. Give the poor bastard the antidote, Fergie, you heartless witch you. Yea, that's right, it's another Teen Witch reference. And now that I've said it, you know what has to happen, right? Enjoy:



Source: NY Post

Time For Lindsay to Reset Her MySpace Password Again

Lindsay Lohan's MySpace page has been sold off to the highest bidder (again) says Star magazine, who will be running the ill-gotten letters between Lindsay and rumored lesbian girlfriend Samantha Ronson in their next issue under the headline "Lindsay's Lesbian Love Letters!"

Lohan allegedly tells Ronson: "Babe, if I don't have you in my life then I should just go die. ... I want to marry you and have children with you."

Apparently Lindsay isn't fussy about who changes her name.

"Go to bed babe," she wrote to her pal late one night.

"I love you. - [signed] Lindsay Ronson.

Awww...young love is so sweet. And oh so telling, don't you think? You can tell they're a new couple just by how optimistic Lindsay is. My fella and I used to write sweet little somethings to one another, too. As time has passed, however, the desire to be poetic and sweet has simmered a bit. The notes of today read more simply, I've noticed, such as "Marry me already!" and "aren't you glad you decided to love me? I'm a catch" and "please do not forget tampons, you know day one is really heavy for me" and so on. And while we may not have what Lilo and SamRon have, at least we have tampons. Super absorbency tampons.

Source: NY Daily News

Ewww

A cut-rate whorish version of Drew Barrymore who happens to be Elvis's granddaughter is still dating a cut-rate version of Brad Pitt from Snatch who happens to have played some music in the '90s, and it's news?

I don't fucking think so.

Source: The Evil Beet

Avril Is Velly Sneaky

Odds are that you've heard Avril Lavigne's hit masterpiece Girlfriend. Assuming that's the case, you're all as depressed as I am by the semi-recent news that she has Vanilla Iced the philosophical chorus, "Hey! (Hey!) You! (You!) I don't like your girlfriend!" from...some guy. Which guy? Tommy Dunbar, who led the globally unrecognized new-wave band The Rubinoos. Say it without snickering, I dare you.

The proverbial money shot of this theft can be most easily checked out by hitting this video. So, yeah, this is as lazy as it is blatant. A strong case could be made for it beating out Vanilla's "No, mine goes ding ding ding ding dingy-ding-ding - it's totally different." I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that for being a stolen song, Girlfriend is crazy terrible. If the ATF had had this song in Waco, I'm completely sure the Branch Davidians would've immediately left the compound to make it stop.

Source: Globe and Mail

Clay Aiken Embodies Bizarre

So, Clay Aiken's pretty weird. His fans are pretty weird, too. Mel and Sug proved that back when they raided a Clay Aiken forum. But his weirdness has been brought back to the forefront of my mind by this clip of him performing "classics" from the "American catalog" (Clay's words). Turn it down, because as horrible as the noises from the stage are, they don't touch the noises coming from his banshee fans.




Source: YouTube

Related Posts: I Love the Internet

Bai Ling Is Insane, Maybe a Liar

Bai Ling, shown above looking more tasteful and restrained than usual, apparently got married in Vegas on the Fourth of July. You may remember Bai Ling from such.....wait a minute. Never mind. I'm pretty sure she's at least 3 rungs below me on the ladder of fame. She just happens to show up at red carpet events looking like a slut, so people assume she must be famous.

TMZ spotted the always wacked-out, self-described "crazy movie star" and chicken dancer outside Area last night, where she announced to the world, via paparazzi, that she got hitched in Sin City earlier that day. She may want to tell her reps now, since they told TMZ that no wedding occurred.

TMZ readers have analyzed the video on her site and have identified the man in question, who in the video refers to himself as "anonymous," as Dionne Warwick's son. I'd thought that there was no rung on the ladder of fame beneath Bai Ling, but Dionne Warwick's son has proven that there is, and that rung is labeled "Bai Ling's husband."

Source: TMZ

Muireann McDonnell...because you guys seem to really want to know about her

I'm always interested in the fun facts that our statcounter returns about our readers. The fellow from the Netherlands who has had 95 returning visits...he interests me (I assume you're male, I don't know why.) Those who find us by googling "Beth Chapman breasts" are also interesting characters to me. And I've also been thrilled to learn through statcounter that we are among the top results for queries such as "ugly vagina," "no I won't make out with you," and "Beth Chapman porn." (What is it with you guys and Beth Chapman? And why are we a top result?) The one query that has plagued Sug and I for WEEKS now, however, is "Muireann McDonnell." At the moment, 14.18% of users on the site arrived by searching for Muireann McDonnell, and we've but one post referencing her. There are more of you here for Muireann McDonnell, in fact, than there are here for those Nick and Vanessa pics down there. So, it seems, it's time I give the people what they want. Behold: Everything I can find about Muireann McDonnell.

Firstly, Muireann McDonnell does not have a wikipedia entry. Luckily, google is an ever-faithful friend. I have learned that she's a cute and I think quite tall glass of milk. She resembles Jennifer Garner in that "girl next door who could kick your ass" sort of way. A medical student from Dublin, she is 22 and has been dating actor Colin Farrell for seven months. Last month, Farrell professed that she was "the one." Correspondingly, Muireann McDonnell has either a) a magic lamp b) a fairy godmother or c) has mastered fourth year potions. Because honestly, just how gods damned often do ridiculously good looking bad boy actors head home for a holiday and chat up the intelligent pre-med barmaid at the local watering hole, only to have his heart stolen by her girlish smile and secretive eyes? Not too damn often outside of Hugh Grant movies, of this much I am certain. So congratulations on whatever magic it is you have mastered, Ms McDonnell. I tip my hat to you.

Nick and Vanessa Steamy Sex Pics!

These were rumored to be hardcore and steamy. And they totally are, except, you know, they're not at all. And I can't confirm that they're having sex. He could be helping her stretch, for all I know. Either way, they both make funny stretching faces. I'm not going to say much more about this little publicity stunt because the two of them are still acting all butt-hurt about these pictures and I'm most likely going to have to take them down soon so, you know, Vanessa can go on Oprah and cry about how hard it is to be a real person in this crazy mixed up hot tubbin world. Maybe then she can explain where the third person is hiding who has their left foot resting atop Nick's left shoulder. I'd like to get down to the bottom of that one. Just like Nick's gettin down to her bottom! *cue cymbals* Thank you, I'll be here all week, try the veal.

Source: Daily Stab

Britney Spears Is A Method Actress

I've taken time out of my day of lighting explosives and curb-stomping hippies to bring you this latest insight into the dank, echoing space that is Britney Spears's head (being new to this gig, I'm not quite to the point of throwing myself from a balcony when I see her name). I don't think I'm alone in saying that things were starting to look a little more encouraging on the Britney Spears front. She was wearing better wigs, freaking out a little less, and dressing...well, still kind of like a blind 4 year old that was raised by wolves. But hey, 2 out of 3 ain't bad. Some plausible if somewhat dubious explanations for her behavior were beginning to surface, and I was pleasantly looking forward to a time when Britney Spears would be living quietly in shame, away from the public eye.

But now she done fucked it all the hell up (yay for earning our NC-17!) by sending a letter to X17 which was, by all accounts, dripping with insanity when it arrived. The exact text follows:

Dear x17,

I want to apologize for the past incedent with the umbrella. I was preparing a character for a possible movie role where the husband doesn't play his part so they swap places. Unfortunatly I didn't get the part. I'm sorry I got alil carried away with my role!

Britney

For those just tuning in to this soap opera, the umbrella incident is when she shaved her head, flipped out, and broke a pap photographer's window in with an umbrella. Truly, a pinnacle of nuttiness which is only accented and driven home by this stunning correspondence. Go on, read it again and meet me back here. Awesome. I'll ignore her troubling spelling errors and childlike syntax (oops, no I won't) and focus pretty squarely on the fact that a better explanation could have been penciled in by a drunken ape. The umbrella "incedent" had been pretty much relegated to the archives by now. The jokes had been made, she went to rehab, we all got tired of it. But now here we are, reflecting on what a psycho bitch she is. To all of you who ever thought it'd be so hot if jailbait Britney ever turned into a dirty party whore, shame on you.


Source: dListed

Abe Vigoda is Still Alive, and Other Pertinent News

It's 30 minutes outside of a holiday here, and while I'm feeling relaxed after a fabulous Lush bath (yes, Lush, I plan to continue plugging you for free until you catch on and offer me a lifetime supply for my efforts) I can't bring myself to head to bed until I've gathered up all of the goods that appear to have occurred whilst I was soaking. Ready?

Divorces: Mandie Taketa Brady has filed for divorce from husband Wayne Brady. Just as relevant in the world of current entertainers: I broke a nail today.

Johnny Knoxville has filed for divorce from his wife of twelve years, Melanie Lynn Clapp. The two have an eleven-year-old daughter, Madison, and Knoxville will seek joint custody. Hey, remember back before he did The Dukes of Hazzard when it was still okay to have a crush on Johnny Knoxville? Yea...those were swell times. Simpler times.

Pregnant: Everyone has once again heard from reliable sources that Nicole Richie is pregnant, and everyone is once again stating for the umpteenth time that she will be marrying Joel Madden this summer. Thank God that's all cleared up now.

Christina Aguilera, also rumored to be pregnant and confirmed pregnant repeatedly, has once again been confirmed pregnant today. In related news, reading the E! News feature on this will make you want to cut Natalie Finn no less than a dozen times for her continued insistence upon making baby puns out of Aguilera's song titles.

Dead: Not Abe Vigoda

Source: Source Name

Judge This...

Why can't Paris just hide her vagina away like the good little turtle that it is?- TMZ

Lindsay to play Paris to the sound of Britney. There is no God- agentbedhead

Padma and Salman divorce, bring balance to the force- Fatback and Collards

Stop looking at the camera and flexing, Nick, this is supposed to be a SCANDAL, not a photoshoot- Cele|bitchy

Isaiah still complaining about the man keeping him down- Hollywood Offender

"The Ambien made me do it." Yea, me too, Stamos. Me too- ICYDK

Young Hollywood actor refuses to get drunk or high in public. Didn't he get his handbook?- Tasteful Society

I still think she looks like a My Little Pony in shoulder pads, but whatever. Here's some Jessica Biel- What I Missed

The Noxzema girl topless. About as exciting as, you know, ANYONE topless- The Evil Beet