Avril And The Duff: BFF

After previously lashing out at Hillary Duff for being a "pop-tart" after the equine teen "singer/actress" told magazines that Avril needed to appreciate her fans more, it appears the two have buried the hatchet. Which is a shame, because I'd really like Avril to hack off that stupid look on The Duff's face with said hatchet, just to prove to people that she is the embodiment of rock, despite the fact that she is only played on Top 40 stations.

The guy on the right is La Duff's boyfriend, Joel from Sum 41, and the guy on the left is Avril's fiance whose name I neither know, nor care about. I'll I know is he looks Irish: drunk and stupid. Oh, c'mon! It was funny!

Eminem Divorces...Again

The Associated Press (read: Big Brother) is claiming that less than three months after marrying his ex-wife, Marshall Mathers has filed for divorce from his high school sweet heart for the second time. If this doesn't flair up her drug habit again, I don't know what will.

Then again, this could all be a publicity stunt geared towards Eminem's career revival, seeing as though his newest album totally sucked ass, not unlike every other previous album Mr. Slim Shady has subjected us to.

Also, they look very much alike, and it's kinda creeping me out.

Zeeeeeee

I can't believe I haven't linked my sexy hero, ZeFrank before. Be a friend and visit his page. It's ecclectic, but I go because he dances really well.

It's been a crazy week here in Mintown. I'm just happy that it's Friday and that I have a seat at the pub with my name on it.

But before we kick off the weekend, I would just like to make a quick soliloquy, a la Peter Griffin:

What Grinds My Gears

You know what grinds my gears? Being referred to while in the office as part of "the girls". Did I step away to the powder room and re-enter the office through a time-portal that whisked us back to 1950? I went to college. I did my little stint as an administrative assistant. I'm just as competent as you, despite the fact that I don't have a pecker. So the next time you decide to tell one of our clients what adorable little thing "the girls" put together for an upcoming business trip, try using names and/or titles when referring to your female co-worker(s).

Ask anyone, and they'll tell you, I'm the last person you would call a feminist. But Jesus H. Christ, I worked hard to be where I am; I will not be clumped together with the fucking receptionist. Say one more thing, sir, and I'll subserviently hand your little stubby to you on a platter.

The Hiltonator

Ski goggles. On the beach. It's hot.

Don't Pity Jennifer

Hi. I'm Jennifer Aniston; I recently told some magazine (which one I have forgotten and Min is waaaaay too lazy to actually look it up) not to pity me. See, here? I'm happy. See how happy? I'm really happy. I could care less that I have to make love to a gigantic, hairy bear, or that he kinda always smells. He's funny. And loyal. And who the Hell cares that Brad knocked up the hottest woman on the face of the planet and is all happy and shit because he's having a baby with someone who lets him fly a plane to all these countries to adopt babies and I mean someone who does something like that seriously has to have a void in their life but not me I'm totally happy. With my big, hairy bear.

Nicole Richie Might Be Dead

Recently photographed on the beach with ex-fiance, and apparently current boyfriend, DJ A.M., Nicole Richie plays dead. She even gets a belly rub for being a good little bitch. Now...roll over! Roll over! Who's at the door!? Is someone at the door, girl?! Go get 'em!

Cletus Is On Fire

Mc K-Fed has decided to name his upcoming debut album, set to be released in August of this year, Playing With Fire. You see, people, not only is Cletus just the hottest piece of white trash ass on the face of this planet, he also uses cliches to display his creative intelligence. This is the point where I break down and cry because he probably spent the day buying a $700 penny just for fun while I tool around onli...I mean...work.

And so I take my vengeance by putting old high school photos of ugly pseudo-celebrities on the web...

I Give You: Bobby Trendy

I get it. You're Asian. And gay. Puffins will be so disappointed in his fellow gaysian.

Busted Tees

I can't figure out which one to buy; they're all just too precious. For our friend Wombat from Kiss & Blog, I choose this one. But do I want this one? Or this one? Or maybe this one? We'll have a poll. And if I don't like what you pick, I'll just get one that I like anyway.

Even Hollywood Gods Make Mistakes

Brad Pitt used to date Juliet Lewis. She's the person shown here. All I can think is that either Brad was crazy, or Juliet was really good in bed, which means I still have a shot either way.

Cynic's Fashion Edition

Dear Ms. Parker:

Why you are continually added to Hollywood's "Best Dressed" lists is beyond me. For the three years you greedily hung on to the 1950's housedress style, worn by the likes of Beaver's mom, I refused to watch Sex & the City (although that had more to do with me not having cable because it's an unnecessary expense when you are young and have a weekend alcohol dependency to nourish). Therefore I say with all seriousness, that if you plan on bringing back sequins or even think of inventing a "Vegas Show Girl" style, I won't go see your new-ish movie with Matthew McConaughey (even though I hadn't planned on it anyway because to be honest I'm sick of the romantic comedies and after seeing something as kick-ass as V for Vendetta I feel like all movies should have substance and be related to overthrowing oppressive governments whilst wielding knives).

Sincerely,
Never Been a Fan

The Nutcracker Sweet Jesus What Are You Wearing?!

Though this certainly isn't the worst thing Bai Ling has ever been photographed wearing, she should be killed for donning it just the same. Someone has to be made an example of.

Sharon Stone Is Crazy

Continuing her futile attempt to persuade Jews and Arabs alike that Americans aren't self-absorbed, scary white people, Sharon Stone toured Tel Aviv this past week in an outfit that can only be described as "1970's factory-assembly-line-chic meets African-Dashiki-Hollywood-glam". Only, you know...without the glam. But those shades are rockin'. And by rockin' I mean she stole them from Bono while he was providing real help to starving orphans with cleft palates.

Mischa Barton Is Trendy

Can someone please tell me why this vision of skinny prepubescence is considered a sex symbol to anyone other than a pedophile? I think I wore that exact same outfit in 4th grade, minus the suspenders because suspenders were NEVER cool. And...are those elastic jean shorts? The words "jean shorts" are hard enough to type without going apoplectic, but elastic?! Are you f-ing kidding me?!

Disco Inferno

What up, bitches?! It's the C to the H to the L to the O to the E. I'm so totally stoked about my upcoming gig in which I play a love interest to a polygamist played by...are you ready? Are you sure you're ready? Bill Paxton! I know, you're like, so totally jealous and shit. A real actor! I mean, Twister? Apollo 13? He's so accomplished! Not like that serial-killer look alike Vincent. I was so jazzed about being one of his three wives in the show, that I made sure to wear a dress that has absolutely no support for my supple sistahs, if you know what I'm sayin'! And just check out these kicks, man! Totally Gloria Gaynor circa 1978. Yeah...I'm totally happy with the way my life is turning out. All you naysayers can suck it! Peace!

J-Lo Is Happy

Jesus, Jenny From the Block. I know you're married to a zombie, but it's the F-ing Oscars. It wouldn't kill you to smile. But your husband might. I wouldn't turn my back on him is all I'm saying.

Lesbians Heart Angelina

According to a recent poll in Diva magazine (no, I didn't know there was such a thing either), lesbians fantasize the most about having some girl on girl action with Angelina Jolie. Shocking, I know.

The top ten are:

1) Angelina Jolie
2) Portia De Rossi
3) Gina Gershon
4) Sharon Stone
5) Jodie Foster - Really?
6) Queen Latifah
7) Halle Berry
8) Charlize Theron
9) Salma Hayek
10) Drew Barrymore

Since Portia De Rossi is the only actual lesbian on this list (currently dating Ellen Degeneres), I can see how she made it. Angelina is a given, as I'm sure Jesus Christ Himself spanks his one-eyed wonder monkey to her pictures (I already know I'm going to Hell, no hate mail needed). Even Salma Hayek is pretty hot. But where is my Scarlett? And my new obsession, Lucy Lu? Lucy's hot. She speaks Mandarin. She could break your freaking neck with a karate chop. C'mon, guys! Are you with me? But Sharon Stone is number 4 on the list, reminding me why I am not, in fact, a lesbian. Or a man.

What are you so happy about Haylie Duff? The fact that your career - if you want to call a brief stint as a pregnant, unwed college kid on 7th Heaven, a role in Napoleon Dynamite and a very unsexy spread in Maxim (in which sales historically plunged to negative 10 because subscribers demanded their money back after having paid up front for a whole year's worth of what is essentially soft core porn) a career - is hanging precariously on what little popularity your little sister has left with the tween population? Or is it because you're totally rocking a silk scarf straight from the sweat houses of India to the opening of a new Hollywood gym? And secondly, I didn't think horses were allowed indoors anymore. Because of code violations or something.

Christmas In March

I couldn't wait until December. I tried, and only lasted four seconds after downloading the picture. It's because I love you.

McCletus Will Strip For Money

Apparently annoyed at the recent reports that his wife put sperm donor, Kevin Federline, on a budget, he says when his upcoming debut album (that has been "upcoming" for like a year now, just get it the Hell out so I have a diplomatic reason for assassinating you) bombs, he'll:

"be at your local strip club, but I'll be the one dancing."

I don't know about you, but just thinking about seeing that swollen bag of a man naked gets my mojo flowing. I'm a sucker for moobs (man-boobs, for all you plebeians).

Oklahoma!

I don't normally go for the muscular guys. I, like my gasian pimp counterpart, typically fall in love with intelligent, geek-chic. However, as I watched Pitch Black (shut up, someone made me watch it) I couldn't help but stare at Vin Diesel and his very sexy bald head and biceps. He was kinda hot. But then we watched a "behind the scenes" special feature which involved Mr. Diesel showing the viewer around the set. He had a lisp and said the word "fabulous". More than once. My fantasies quickly dissolved.

As to anyone who truly and honestly questions the sexual preference of Vin Diesel, I give you a recent quote from Elle:

"The burly, bald-pated star reveals that he's nicknamed his swollen biceps "the kryptonics," although he insists he'd never break out the big guns in order to score a prospective date's digits.

"'No! What do you take me for? I'm much more romantic than that," he tells of his cautious use of "the kryptonics." "I'm more likely to sing Broadway show tunes to a girl.'"

So there. He's totally into chicks. You know, because he sings show tunes. That's fierce.

And Work It, Two, Three, Four

Last night at the gym I looked over to a young woman entering the cardio room; she had on tight black capri-sweats and a tight pink wife beater over a bright red sports bra. I probably wouldn't have minded half as much if she wasn't 300 lbs.

Ladies, I laud you for going to the gym to shape up. It adds years to your life expectancy, it makes you more confident - you just feel better. I do it for the same reasons. Well, that and so I don't feel guilty for indulging in the occasional crunchy taco.

However, you have not yet earned the privilege that is tight clothing. And you, specifically, Ms. Red Sports Bra and non-matching pink wife beater that does nothing to hide your rolls of fat nor pink, blotted skin - should be thrown in the hottest pits of Hell for hypnotizing me into watching your knees hit your drooping stomach while peddling on the stationary bike. I almost feel bad for you, as you clearly aren't pretty, and in the event of losing all that weight, still won't be. You should go to the doctor about your acne, because if you can afford a gym membership, you can afford Proactiv. The only hope for you is that you are intelligent and a good conversationalist, but judging by the Redbook you've been glancing at, that doesn't seem so likely.

Jake Gyl...Gill...The Guy From Brokeback...His Sister

Besides Donnie Darko (in which she played an emotionally vacant and rebellious teen and I only remember that because her brother played the leading role and I thought to myself...huh...that's funny that they cast both of them for brother/sister roles because they're actually, like, brother and sister), I've never seen her in a movie. She looks like she smells of stale cigarettes, whisky and a fat man who paid her to have sex with him. But she looks regretful about it.

For the Cynical Bitch in All of Us

I couldn't have said it better myself. On sale now HERE until March 31st.

Madonna Shuns Kabbalah, Channels Xenu

You. Terrify. Me.

Tranny Hilton

Now, when your nose naturally resembles a beak, I'm not quite sure a peacock inspired, albeit glamorously bead-azzled...sure, we'll call it a dress...is the best thing to be wearing in public.

Hot Mama

Michelle Williams recently had a baby. I'm not sure how long ago, but I'll say within the past year. All I'm saying is it's possible, Britney. Just something you might want to think about. Also, Heath Ledger looks like Mr. Tumnus from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.

Life With Stapp

On acceptance:

"He said he previously told his new wife about having a wild year and that she
accepts the tape as part of his past."

On marriage:

"A day after his wedding, Stapp was arrested for investigation of being drunk at Los Angeles International Airport. He is set for arraignment on March 8."

On being a loser:

"You don't want to say it's laughable, but it's just like, my God, there's so much stuff," he said. "Somebody does not like you and somebody wants you to fail."

Yes, Mr. Stapp...and that Somebody is God. He hates you. It has nothing to do with you being a self-absorbed, panty-wearing alcoholic with a horrendous underbite. It's just your lot in life.

How Was Your Weekend?

I spent it in Hell, thanks for asking. Specifically, the 8th level of Hell, New Jersey. I took the Mister to see one of his favorite bands, whose closest show to us was...you got it...New Jersey. It's the Whitesnake of states, eternally preserved in Aquanet, acid wash jeans and *shudder* spandex.

The show consisted of four bands: Halestorm, Fly...something...Fly...paper? Flystrip? Flyleaf! That's it...Flyleaf. Shinedown (the band we went to see) and Seether (whom we didn't stay to see). Halestorm was great; the lead singer was a rockin' chick that reminded me of Janis Joplin, only pretty, and not visibly strung out. Powerful voice. Flypoop consisted of a female lead singer who looked more like a 10 year old boy with long hair and sounded like a barking seal. The lead guitarist reminded me of a muppet on speed. They are the sole reason my ears have been ringing for three days straight. That and maybe the pot I inadvertently inhaled from the 14 year old next to me taking hits off a small pipe.

On the way home from New Jersey we took a detour to find a bathroom before I wet myself. We wound up in Chinatown. Really. I ran into a McDonald's bathroom with one toilet and no door lock. I didn't care.

The only redeeming quality of the entire trip was that we found gas in New Jersey for $1.97. There was much rejoicing.

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!