Witchy Woman

Jabba's tummy is looking somewhat taught, recently. And I have only one explanation. She sold her soul to the Devil, hence the "Satan Horns" she's flashing with her left hand. She's probably planning on eating that poor little puppy later. Raw.

Lohan Is Mysterious

I think I have those exact same window treatments. But they look better on my bedroom windows; they have more curves. Baddah Bing!

Evil Taco

The crunchy taco. A rare indulgence for myself which I enjoy immensely when the scheduled event of eating occurs. I skimp not on the cheese and sour cream, nor the soy meat with the flavorings that pour forth from the little blue Ortega packet. It is my junk food of choice that takes 4 minutes to make, perfect for those nights on which I just burned 500 calories at the gym and feel like undoing the whole process.

I go for a third, because I feel extra self-deprecatory. I bite. I chew. Yummy crunch. Crunch, crunch. And...swallow...and...ow. I apparently didn't chew enough. One, lone triangular piece of crunchy taco shell slowly makes its way down my esophagus, carving "Taco Shell Wuz Here" on the inside of my poor throat.

I hear God say, "That's what you get, fatty".

My Space Dot Com

It's this huge phenomenon right now. And I just can't get into it. I didn't like high school. I didn't like the people at high school. I don't like the fact that the people from high school still act like they're in high school, and Myspace.com proves this theory.

With the exception of 5 or so people, I can't remember the people I spent 8 hours a day with, 5 days a week. But in my defense, I usually either didn't make it to school, or left by 4th or 5th period. I will assume the fond memories I hold of my past classmates are shared by them of me. College wasn't much better.

However...I have been searching for a certain person who will remain nameless *JULIE* *cough* *cough*, and secretly hoping that she had 13 children and weighed as much as a sperm whale by now. Let's just say that we had a bit of a falling out, and yet no words were exchanged. She simply just vanished. Well now she's back, my friends. And alas...not any fatter. Yet.

Paris Mantis Transformation Almost Complete

Disproving scientists' theories that you can't genetically incorporate praying mantis DNA with whore, Paris Hilton walks with her head held high, wearing a special optical visor to help her acclimate to having vision akin to a common house fly.

Cletus Wants Respect

...And I want to vomit just looking at this photo.

Mc K-Fed tells anyone who will listen, in this case Newsweek, that he is ready to receive poor reviews for his debut album. He also mentions that the most likely repetitive and nauseating white trash beats will not feature the Misses, saying:

"I'm not going to put the songs on this album because it's like, 'Respect me first; then I'll show you what I've done with my wife.'"

So there is a white light at the end of the tunnel and we will never have to sit through a Cletus-Britney duet, because the day Cletus gets respect is the day I grow an exoskeleton and make a living by betting on my survival chances of leaping off a building 72 times my height.

Bag Lady

I would be lying if I said that during my day in New York today I don't plan on stalking Lindsay Lohan, as she is currently filming Chapter 27. I would also be lying if I said that if I do in fact sight Lindsay I will not ask her "whither the hobo look?" and then force feed her a tuna on rye with full fat mayo, a side of chips and a coke. It's because I secretly love you LiLo. I only want what's best. And you dressing like Kimberly Stewart is anything but.

Even Carmen Electra finds Ashley Simpson inexplicably mockable. Is she laughing at the Hollywood Tan? The bottle blonde look? The freakishly white teeth? The butt chin? Or the shoes? I would definitely point and laugh at those shoes. And the frock. Let's be honest...she is Simpson the Lesser, and the original isn't much to aspire to.

Mail Call

I might have mentioned to a few of you that yesterday's update was all you were going to get from me unless someone important died. But I didn't mention that the only other reason I would post is if I got fan mail. Because writing me fanmail always gets your letter published. However, those of you who have written me hate mail won't get your e-mails posted. Not only that, but you'll be getting a special package of death in the mail from Jesus (and by Jesus I mean Ted Kaczynski), 'cause he's got my back and he thinks I'm cooler than you.

"I have to tell you. (My boyfriend) and I now get tipsy every weekend and re-read your blog just to get our rocks off.....OK not literally. You should advertise your blog more. I'll manage and take a % :-) You could be rich and famous. You've got a great mind (Min)!"

-Super Hot Corporate Chick

Dear SHCC:

Thank you. Yes, I know I'm brilliant. And though this blog isn't meant as an income supplement, I appreciate your offer to be my agent. However, at this time I'm focusing on my Pulitzer, so a stint as a gossip columnist or a weekly editorial in Cosmo is out of the question.

Thanks anyway,
-Min

P.S. - How does 70%/30% sound?

Run Down

Because I haven't felt like posting for the past week or so, and I am continually becoming more apathetic to the plights and wonders of the celebrity world, I'm going to do a quick run down of what is happening at Hollywood High, thereby satisfying you greedy bastards with minimal effort on my part.

* Britney Spears dropped by the Urgent Care unit of a Malibu hospital after the first day of taping her guest appearance on an upcoming episode of Will & Grace, apparently for "stomach cramps". Her presumably high-paid mouthpiece explained to tabloids that she had a cold. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that said mouthpiece failed her "The Art of Lying 101" course at Publicity School. Also, I am going to hope that this little trip to the hospital isn't indicative of Ms. Spears' plan to add to her dysfunctional brood, and that Karen and Jack secretly replaced her "water" with "Clorox" and told her it was "Expensive French Stuff" instead.

* Mariah Carey is still fat.

* Paris Hilton was pelted with flour at a red carpet event for some designer with a penchant for dressing like Sgt. Pepper (See above photo). The conspirators were insane members of PETA who actually think throwing flour on people will stop them from featuring the dead rotting flesh of animals in their couture. How about throwing all of the scrap leftovers that the tanners didn't use? Like the spleen. I've never seen a spleen jacket or a pair of patent gall bladder shoes.

* Paris Hilton is supposedly single after the tranquilizer dart was accidentally removed from her second Greek billionaire-heir and he took off faster than a confused straight man waking up in the bed of his best dude after a night of heavy drinking.

* Paris Hilton is still an attention-seeking whore, as she has taken up three separate bullets on this update page.

* Life & Style magazine has reported that Tom Cruise and Kate Holmes have supposedly split. It may have also gone into detail about how Kate Holmes is actually carrying the cloned fetus of L. Ron Hubbard, inserted via turkey baster (as I mentioned at the beginning of Fetus Watch 2005/2006: TomKat). But I may have made that up. But I definitely think there was something in there about Tom Cruise allegedly being gay and having a Vietnamese lover. Or not. I just don't want to get sued. Or eaten by Xenu.

* Sex tapes of Scott Stapp and Kid Rock are being picked up by Red Light District, the company that featured the almost critically acclaimed One Night In Paris featurette. Lest you be confused, I will clarify that the sex tapes are separate and feature the...um...stars(?)...getting it on with separate lucky females. Which brings me to my first question: why were they created? Second question: why are they being released to be sold for money? The last thing I want to see is night vision footage of Stapp's ginormous chin digging into unidentified crevices and Kid Rock's coked out groupie using his greasy body as a Slip n' Slide to get to the mini bar on the other end of the tour bus.

*Update on Sex tape scandal. Umm...so it appears that it actually is just a single tape, featuring both Stapp and Kid Rock. And all I have to say about that is...ewwwwww. It's apparently from a few years ago when the two were touring together. You know, when both of them actually had careers.

No Love This Valentine's Day

So our Anti V-Day plans were a bust, partially because I have a cold, and partially because Mother Nature is a dirty bitch. Which, subsequently, are related. I stood outside for over an hour, digging my car out of the avalanche the heavens poured down on New England and New York. Which is why I'm considering packing up and moving somewhere else...somewhere warm. If you live in a tropical or sub-tropical locale, and would like to sponsor a cold New Englander to move in with you who would have no contractual obligations to provide money or services rendered for money to you, I'm your girl. I'm house-broken, though occasionally I bite. No, seriously...I do. Just ask Gaysian Fleiss. He has bruises.

Anti V-Day

Four years ago a seemingly eternally single friend of mine and I went out to dinner on Valentine's Day. We dined on yummy Italian food (a theme we seem to have going), and even picked off of one another's plates. We shared a molten chocolate dessert cake. People around us gazed at their beautiful Valentine's Day dates, the men pretending to care long enough to get shagged once they left the restaurant. And there we sat, looking like two lesbians. And quite frankly, if I was going to be mistaken as a lesbian when not in the company of Scarlett and Angelina, this friend wouldn't be as bad a choice as say, Rosie O'Donnell. But I digress...

And so an annual ritual has ensued: every V-Day we grab a bite to eat together and bitch about how pathetic the "holiday" is, me secretly wishing I had a man who would fly me to Paris for a day and let me shop for shoes with wanton passion, and she secretly wishing she had...well...a man. This year will be no different, save for the addition of two more friends. Instead of looking like a hot lesbian couple, our well-dressed group will resemble elite prostitutes, roaming the SoHo region of New York, followed by our Gaysian *Fleiss.

Good times will be had by all.

*My sexy pimp suggested I use the more befitting Madam surname, Fleiss, to exhibit his profiteering talents.

Like A Nutcase, Cracked For The Twentieth Time

No, my gentle readers, this is not a showcase piece at Madame Tussauds. This is backstage at the Grammy's. But I do suspect someone had to prop her up with strings. Or steroids. Whatever works.

D.U.F.F.

Wow. Would you just look at Jessic...whoa. Who the HELL is that? Poor Jess. She got herself a Designated Ugly Fat Friend to make herself feel better for shagging Adam Levine from Maroon 5 and the many purported STD's he carries with him wherever he goes - but now the DUFF seems to be taking away all her attention. Honestly. What's the first thing you notice in the picture? It's not Jessica's poorly rooted hair extensions. Nor is it that catastrophe of a dress (see through, polka dots AND lacy arm cut-out-thingys?) and boring shiny shoes. No, my friends, your keen eyes instinctively gravitate towards the monstrosity behind La Simpson who looks like she may at any moment swallow her whole. I don't much care for jiggly arm fat and stretch marks...but I can't look away. God help me...I just can't!

*As a side note, when putting Spellcheck to work, it suggests to replace "Jessica's" with "cheesecake". And I mean, I can't blame it really. Jessica is about as emotive as cheesecake. Cheesecake sells more than Jessica. And cheesecake is definitely smarter than Jessica. Seriously, one time I saw Jessica Simpson talking to a piece of cheesecake for 15 minutes before realizing it was a piece of food. Even then she didn't know what to do with it so she put it in her car's gas tank.

Karma Does Not Exist

People like Cletus have made me realize that life isn't fair. I don't want to credit him for anything, let alone for my agnostic awakening, but just look at this leech. He should totally be selling oranges on the side of the highway, or at least driving by people selling oranges on the side of the highway in a 1977 burnt sienna El Camino with mud flaps depicting the Tazmanian Devil giving The Man the finger and saying "Back Off" but only because he couldn't afford the flaps with the naked chick silhouette on them.

Instead he lives in a $6 million estate in Malibu spending his days calling his sugar mama "fat ass" and spinning dope tracks in his personal studio, forgetting that he is a) white and b) heinously retarded and should be sterilized before contaminating the gene pool for the 80th time.

Back Fat Becomes You

So I've been having these really strange dreams about Britney lately. No, you deranged psychopath, I only have those types of dreams about Scarlett and Angie. Anyway, everyone is picking on Britney about being fat and stupid and marrying a douchebag and I start to feel bad for her. And I actually become her friend because she's really sweet, even if she has the mentality of a 9 year old. Then I wake up in a confused state wondering if someone tried to implant a soul into my being while I was in the Land of Nod.

Then I find pictures like this. And I don't feel so bad. She made her bacon sandwich, now she can roll around in it...or whatever that saying is.

Scuz Alert

Mr. Ruffalo? Oh my Gawd! Is that you? May I have your autograph?! I must hug y...you...what's that smell? *Sniff* *Sniff* Did I step in shit? Ohhh...you haven't bathed in a month? I see. Umm...you know what? I just forgot that I need to be...somewhere...else. No, no, no...I know the hair's for a part...I do. But I...yeah...appointments to keep. But I'll totally call you, k?

Katie Holmes Is Still Evil, Pregnant

She looks more like a truck driver, complete with beer belly, nasty faux-mullet, stringy hair, aviator glasses and wife beater. Why it's only tucked in at the front is a mystery to me. And I would prefer it stay that way.

Pam, Jordan. Jordan, Pam.

Meet Jordan. The British equivalent to Pamela Anderson. No real talent, save for dressing poorly, and horrifying me in a way that train wrecks horrify me, yet compel me to look for dead bodies. Oh, and they both have ginormous knockers.

Ode To Fajita Friday

Fridays here at The Office, we communally partake in what we have dubbed "Fajita Friday". Because we are classy and think we are funny we pronounce fajita, "Fajeeta". Not only does this simple act of eating lunch together strengthen our co-working bonds, it reminds us that Friday is a day to rejoice. Ergo, I have prepared a haiku, as a token to my beloved Friday:

Ode to Fajita Friday
It is raining out
Fajita place delivers
Break thy neck, Yeti

*snap, snap, snap*

Thank you.

Nothing Says "I Love You" Like a Sack-10

Valentine's Day. A day to show appreciation for the one you love. A hint of sensuality. Lust. Passion. What do you give the person who has everything? A romantic candle-lit dinner like no other. C'mon over here, baby. Let me feed you french fries...real slow like. What's that, sweetie? You're thirsty? I got somethin' right here you can suck...just don't drink it all because I'm not sure all-you-can-drink Pepsi is part of the deal.

Thanks to supah freak, Kristen for the tip.

Maternity Chic

I ganked this photo from Go Fug Yourself to make a point. Babies make people insane. Gwen Stefani had a pretty messed up sense of "style" before getting all preggers. But now...? Now she just looks like a pregnant drunk hobo, paranoid that someone is going to steal her last cigarette.

Fun With MSN Search, Part Deux

Another reader has pointed out that if you input "Dirty Hoes" into MSN Search, you'll find my site. This is getting a little old. I need to start changing my content to "Pink Fuzzie Bunnies" or "Bush Admits Addiction to Oil". On second thought...God forbid anyone type in "Pink Fuzzie Bush Addiction".

This is screwing with my Pulitzer recognition, people!