Tom Cruise is sorely in need of a little image rehab, especially now that Viacom's Sumner Redstone has essentially branded him box-office poison. Hey, I've got an idea Tom - why don't you apologize for something? According to your producer pal Kathleen Kennedy, you "deeply regret" pounding on poor old Brooke Shields for being hooked on prescription medication, so why not start there? I, Tom Cruise, am deeply, deeply sorry for calling Brooke Shields an idiot dope-head. And I Tom Cruise further apologize to anyone else I may have offended when I attacked the widespread use of anti-Depressants (even if people who use them are pathetic fools who can't get their lives together). I, Tom Cruise, am an idiot whose brain has been taken over by the nonsensical ramblings of a second-rate science-fiction writer with messianic delusions.
Saying you're sorry for dumb shit - it's Hollywood hottest new fad (besides calling Lindsay Lohan an irresponsible little nitwit).
Everyone knows Owen Wilson's been canoodling with Kate Hudson (and may have broken up her marriage with that homeless-looking Black Crowe dude), but the Wedding Crashers star has had other recent affairs that have been a tad more private. Oh wait - it's not private anymore because it's in Page 6. The p.r. babe he was hosing (no name given; probably a good thing for her). According to a source, Wilson and the nameless woman were starting to get "serious" (what's serious for Owen Wilson, exchanging names?) when the whole Kate Hudson thing came up, then Wilson dumped the other broad like a bad habit. Quoting the source: "When [nameless jiltee] e-mailed Owen about it, he texted her and said, 'We have to talk when I get back to L.A.' She's pretty upset, but everyone knows he's a dog." Yes, a dog with a nose like Joe Camel.
(source; last item)
Jagger & Bowie. Shake it boys.
Singer Boy George, fresh off his well-publicized five-day community service stint, is making outrageous claims about his treatment while in lock-up. "...when I was arrested the police were really hideous to me," says the pop-sensation-turned-publicity-seeking-dopehead. "I just couldn't understand why they would be so bad - they wouldn't even give you water so I had to drink my own urine in the cells. Seriously. ... I thought, 'What have I done to deserve this? What happened to beyond reasonable doubt?''"
A very good question, Boy. What did happen to "beyond reasonable doubt?" Maybe it's gone to the same place as your sense of reality. And your taste in fashion. And your dignity. Seriously, you had to drink your own urine? What did it taste like exactly? I'm guessing it probably didn't taste like shame, since you don't have an ounce of it in your soft, mushy, pie-fed body. And as to another statement of yours: "All my life I've thought, 'I never want to get in trouble with the law in America.'" I find that statement amusing, considering the fact that you called the cops to your own apartment, and there just happened to be a bunch of cocaine sitting on the desk which they just happened to find. And you just happened to get arrested and chucked in jail, where they just happened to force you to drink your own urine. And then you happened to get sentenced to community service which put you on a sidewalk with a lot of cameras and reporters around. Hmm. Seems like a lot of accidental publicity has been coming your way lately Boy. And I'd guess a bit more of it is going to come now that you've revealed the way the New York cops so horribly mistreated you. Maybe, now that you've got everyone's attention (and we do love having people's attention, don't we Boy?), you can just go for broke, and reveal that your whole life you've been nothing but a pathetic no-talent drug-addict pathological liar. Ought to get at least a Larry King interview out of that.
Lindsay Lohan's father may be rotting in prison, but that isn't stopping the low-rent slug from getting his two-cents worth in on his daughter's well-publicized travails - in cartoon form. Quoting the New York Daily News's Lowdown (normally written by Lloyd Grove), which received the curious dispatch from the jailbird Michael Lohan:
Lindsay Lohan's dad - serving time at the Collins Correctional Facility outside Buffalo - has just sent Lowdown an epic drawing depicting his troubled relationship with his famous daughter and the villains who are allegedly driving them apart.
In the 46-year-old Lohan's cartoon, these include money-grubbing lawyers with devil's horns, a prison guard, a paparazzo and an Ugg-booted woman who might be Lindsay's mom, Dina, or her publicist, Leslie Sloane Zelnik. They're all tearing the daughter away from her dear old dad.
"Shame on you," declares the Lord Almighty, who's shown glowering and pointing from heaven. "Don't you know that some things are sacred!?!"
Also depicted - in see-no-evil, hear-no-evil, speak-no-evil poses - are Lindsay's younger siblings, Michael, Alina and Cody. On the back of the cartoon, the artist has scribbled: "The Spiritual Realities and Physical Elements of the truth behind this whole situation."
Lohan included a handwritten letter with the cartoon, in which he offers more nutty opinions about his daughter's tumultuous life.
- On Lindsay herself: "Lindsay is a talented, loving, blessed and free-spirited person. I believe nothing I read about her unless I hear it from Lindsay herself. And she's always been honest with me."
- On movie exec James Robinson, who famously scolded Lindsay for disrupting the shooting of the movie Georgia Rule: "If Mr. Robinson wrote a letter to her, that is his right. He is a respectable man and I'm sure he felt it as his obligation. Â But I do know how things get twisted and I'm sure there is an honest explanation."
- On Brandon Davis, the dirtbag whose mockery was the genesis of Lindsay's "firecrotch" nickname: "All I can say is that I am happy that God gave me a new way of looking at, and pitying, people like Brandon. I pray for his soul!"
Mr. Lohan appears to have found God in prison. Gee, how original.
A man who paid 100,000 pounds for the privilege of hanging with soccer-star David Beckham and his varmint of a wife Posh Spice is suing the cloddish couple for snubbing him. The expensive hob-nobbing session, purchased by nightclub owner Dave West at a celebrity auction benefiting the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, was to take place at the Beckhams' swanky World Cup party in May, but according to West the Beckhams' staff treated him so rudely that he decided not to attend, and he is now seeking compensation in the form of another 100,000 pound donation by the Beckhams to the NSPCC. The predictable response from the Beckhams' reps: their lawyers are dealing with it.
I had my own run-in with the Beckhams once. It happened when I was over in England for some kind of Bob Geldof thing, you know, save Africa or one of those other crappy continents (my friend Virgil talked me into it; he said Barbra would be there but of course Barbra wasn't there...well, that's a story for another day). Anyway, I'm hanging out in the lobby of this big smelly hotel when all of a sudden there's this huge whoosh of air, and this really pungent crotchy sort of odor, and everybody looks up and says, "Oh my God. It's Posh and Becks." And here comes this scrawny bitch in a cheap dress with her unnaturally huge titties just hanging out all over the place, and this other outrageously handsome guy with these chiseled features and a body from fricking Olympus, and I'm thinking to myself, "God. What a waste," and all of a sudden I make eye-contact with Becks, and I'm telling you, that man wanted to have me right then and there. And I think Posh could sense it too, cause she gave me this look; I swear, if I were a straight man, it would've turned my 'nads to ice. That is one scary woman.
Ever wonder what kind of woman turns a psychotic international terrorist's crank? Well, wonder no more kiddies; thanks to an alleged ex-sex slave of Osama Bin Laden, we now know exactly what kind of female brings woodage to the old Al Qaeda tentpole - the kind that makes a fortune in music and movies, then marries a has-been singer and turns into a drug-addled wash-out right before our very eyes. Yup, Whitney Houston. According to a book by Kola Boof, a Sudanese poet and recently-fired "Days of Our Lives" writer who claims to have once been a member of Bin Laden's harem, the America-hating, 9/11-planning lunatic has an obsession with Whitney Houston, and once told Boof he would like to get rid of her husband Bobby Brown and make her one of his wives. "[He would say] how beautiful she is," Boof writes, "what a nice smile she has, how truly Islamic she is but is just brainwashed by American culture and by her husband - Bobby Brown, whom Osama talked about having killed, as if it were normal to have women's husbands killed." Osama's thing for Whitney apparently runs counter to his general feelings about African women, however. "African women are only good for a man's lower pleasures," Boof quotes Bin Laden as saying. "What need do you have for a womb?"
If I were Whitney I'd be packing my bags right now and heading for Afghanistan. Bobby Brown? Crap, girl, he's an l-o-s-e-r loser. Osama Bin Laden? Guy's got millions. I mean, sure, you'll have to live in a cave, but think about the primo smoke, and all you have to do is shine the guy's tentpole every now and then. Okay, so maybe you run the risk of being beheaded for no reason, but what the hell, you ain't using that thing for anything anyway, right? Sorry Bobby, but I think this is a gots to go situation.
Pink Likes Mel
Pop-star Pink says people should forgive Mel Gibson for the hideous anti-Semitic remarks he made after being nailed for DUI. "I'm a fan of his work," says the fugly faux-punkster. "I think anybody with opinions like that needs well-wishing. And I'm Jewish. Alcohol makes you do crazy things."
Wait a sec. Pink is Jewish? What's her real name then? Pearl Pinkofsky?
Beyonce No Lauryn Hill
Singer/actress/booty-shaker Beyonce says she has no intention of ending up like Lauryn Hill, the ex-Fugees songstress who had a smash hit with her solo record The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, then went so nutty from the pressures of success that she shaved her head and fled to the wilds of Brooklyn. "I'll never lose myself like Lauryn," says the big-butted Beyonce, adding, "I don't know what's going to happen to me but I know I'm more than a singer and I have so many other things in my life to keep me focused." Like booty-shaking. Shaking of the booty. Repeated sudden lateral movements of the hips resulting in jelly-like undulations throughout the fatty tissues of the posterior, better known as booty-shaking.
Boy George a Good Old Boy
Boy George is not a bad sort at all, at least according to the guy responsible for supervising his recent stint as a sanitation worker. "George has responded extremely well," says New York city worker Jeremy Pearce. "He did it very conscientiously. He liked the people he was working with, both those who were doing community service and the sanitation people. It was hard but he enjoyed it. People were surprised. They thought he'd be a diva."
Ah-ha. That's it. The cure for chronic over-the-top bitchiness. Somebody needs to prescribe some sidewalk-sweeping to Elton John, pronto.
The roll-call of people who are pissed off at Madonna for her blasphemous stage show, which features the menopausal singer "crucifying" herself on a giant bathroom-tile cross, now includes the Russian Mafia. And the Russian Mafia doesn't just denounce people the way the Vatican does; it threatens them. With kidnapping. And you definitely don't want to be kidnapped by the Russian Mafia. Take it from me. It's no picnic being kidnapped by the those guys.
Yes, it's true, I was once abducted by the Russian Mafia. Back in the early nineties when I was still running my dog-grooming business. A couple of Russian gangsters came into my shop, tied me up and dragged me off. It was terrible. That awful smell of aftershave, vodka-breath and old sneakers. Them playing Yakov Smirnoff videos over and over until I wanted to freaking kill myself. Thankfully I was only held for a couple of days; back then the Russian Mafia accepted toilet paper as ransom payment, so my good pal Vernon just showed up with a van full of Charmin and they let me go. I can only imagine how much Charmin it would take for Guy Ritchie to get Madonna back from the clutches of Russian gangsters now, what with inflation and all. He'd probably have to buy several of those giant packs from Costco.
So, if I were Madonna, I would be taking these threats very seriously. I would be adding more security. And just to be on the safe side, I might consider taking the crucifixion thing out of my stage-show. I mean, seriously Madonna, what point do you think you're making? "Ooh, look at me, I'm Madonna. I'm hanging myself from a cross. Aren't I being daring and sacrilegious?" Okay Madonna, we get it, you grew up a Catholic and it scarred you, and now you're getting back at all the nuns who cracked your knuckles with rulers. How much longer does this have to go on? When will you be satisfied? When the pope personally apologizes? Give it a rest, you old bag. You're not some new pop-music Messiah. You're a no-talent who got lucky and now doesn't have the sense to exit gracefully. Are you going to stick around until your tits are hanging below your knees? Is that how you want people to remember you?
It's official - Scarlett Johansson and Andrew Lloyd Webber are feuding. Round one between the buxom starlet and the musical-theater god took place several months ago, when Webber accused Johansson of backing out of his West End production of The Sound of Music because her handlers were unimpressed with the money being offered. Now Johansson has kicked off round two by firing a left-hook right at Webber's jaw (don't you just love my pugilistic metaphors?), claiming she couldn't have backed out of the production because she never agreed to do it in the first place, and going on to accuse Webber of throwing her name around for the sole purpose of promoting his new competition show, How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?, which will give a group of unknowns a chance to win the role Johansson herself turned down. Cattiness.
I stand second-to-none in my love for Andrew Lloyd Webber (Cats is better than anything that old drunk Shakespeare ever dreamed up in my humble opinion), but I have to admit, Scarlett Johansson is starting to win me over to her side in this. It does begin to look like Webber brought Scarlett's name into the whole thing just to help him sell his show. Gosh, I hope Scarlett doesn't do anything rash like sic Josh Hartnett on Webber. Or even worse, what if Scarlett herself went after him? That chick seems a little psycho to me; she'd be liable to stick Webber with a pen-knife or something. Damn.
Jared Leto Has Gout. So If You Had Gonorrhea in the "What Disease Will Jared Leto Get Next" Pool, You Lose.
Well, it was bound to happen - you knew with all the mania for gaining and losing weight among Oscar-hungry actors that sooner or later one of them would pay the price. Well, sooner or later has come, and the one who's paying the price is Jared Leto. Yes, Jared Leto. The young validation-starved heartthrob put on 62 pounds to play Mark David Chapman in a flick (I had no idea Mark David Chapman was that heavy), then had to lose the fat fast for another role, and all the yo-yoing between weights caused Leto to develop a case of gout. Yes, gout. The disease you thought only your old alcoholic uncle had. Apparently rapid weight-gain can cause the painful joint condition, which puts actors smack in the middle of the high-risk zone. Of course, news of Leto's affliction will do nothing to deter future wannabe award-winners from
grasping desperately for attention proving their dedication to their craft by physically transforming themselves. What's a little case of gout when Oscar glory is on the line (not to mention the big bump in pay that results from winning)? Hell, I bet there are actors out there who'd gladly be injected with ebola or bubonic plague for the chance to grab an award. Tom Cruise would probably have a limb chopped off if he thought it would help (of course Cruise could then use his Scientology powers to grow the limb back).
Kelly Clarkson has apparently decided to shed her good-girl image entirely and become yet another Lohan-like party-skank. According to witnesses, Ms. Clarkson, the original American Idol winner, showed up at the Key Club in Hollywood the other night, where some kind of awful '80s-retro rock band called Metal Skool was playing (they do know "school" isn't spelled like that right?). The witnesses reported that Ms. Clarkson got herself wasted on liquor, climbed up on stage waving a bottle around, ripped her vest off and tossed it into the crowd, then proceeded to air guitar her way through the evening.
The question then is this: Does Clarkson's image become edgier for this kind of behavior, or does a band like Metal Skool become unaccountably lame for being seen with Kelly Clarkson? And does anyone out there have any pictures of this event, cause I'd really like to add them to my Kelly Clarkson scrapbook.
Contrary to popular belief, I did not have a fling with Boy George back in the eighties. Boy George was a heroin addict back then, and I always had a strict policy against sleeping with heroin addicts. Plus I thought he was a wanker. And that cross-dressing Japanese Rastafarian look wasn't doing anything for me either. Now he's going around with what looks like a Star-of-David shaved into the top of his dome. What the hell's that about? Maybe he thinks he's being daring and subversive.
By the way, sweeping streets for community service is not fun. I had to do that one time after a run-in with some Hasidic guys over in Brooklyn (okay, I admit, I was bombed out of my mind). No less than three old flings came by to throw garbage in my path, then take pictures while I swept it up. It was humiliating. But I did learn my lesson about getting wasted and shouting insults at Hasidic guys. Much like doing tequila shots with Mel Gibson, it may look like fun at first, but afterword you'll regret it.
Just when you thought stories of Mel Gibson's antics couldn't get any stranger, along comes National Enquirer poo-flinger Mike Walker's report on a Malibu party the Jew-hating nutbag attended only days before his now-famous meltdown. According to Walker's sources (which could be the voices in his own head for all we know), Gibson, in an advanced state of inebriation (obviously), decided it would be a hilarious idea to dump the water out of a dog-dish, fill it with booze, then drink said booze out of said dog-dish, lapping it up with his tongue like a parched pooch - all in front of the other partygoers, who of course were shocked. An even-more-intoxicated Gibson then proceeded to prowl the pool area out back, flirting and pinching asses. The ass-grabbery got bad enough that one female partier even took the step of sending a letter to Gibson's people demanding an apology.
I have to say, even back in my drunken Studio 54 days, I never did anything as crazy as drink booze out of a dog-dish. I snorted coke off of Janice Dickinson's ass once, but that was only after Geraldo Rivera dared me. And of course she had a nice smooth ass then. Nothing like now.
If Madonna is looking unusually wrung-out these days, then there's a good reason for it. It seems builders in The Immaterial Girl's London neighborhood have been making a lot of noise lately, preventing her from getting enough shut-eye, and the strain is beginning to show up in her performances.
At one of her recent Wembley Stadium shows, the middle-aged slag had to take a seat in the middle of one of her cheesy sacrilegious numbers, saying, "I only got three hours sleep last night because I have got construction work going on in stereo at my house. This morning I was so tired I thought: 'F**k, I can't do my show.' But I'm getting lots of energy from the smiles on your faces."
Gee Madonna, you sure it's the lack of sleep that's causing you to feel run-down? You sure it isn't menopause? Or maybe divine retribution for all the blasphemy you've been splashing around lately? Or maybe it's just your old, worn-out body telling you it's time to stop traipsing around like a coked-up twenty-year-old and act your age. Just a thought.
Jennifer Aniston's publicist is no one to screw around with, as NBC's Today show has now discovered.
The whole sordid affair began because of an US Weekly "exclusive" about Vince Vaughn's proposal to Aniston; Stephen Huvane, Aniston's publicist, went on a denial binge over the story, but this didn't stop the Today show from running with it, even going so far as to interview US's editor Janice Min on the air. Bad move for the Today show. Because Stephen Huvane, his underwear in a bunch, is now threatening to boycott the program. And Huvane represents people like Gwyneth Paltrow, Demi Moore and Kirsten Dunst, people the Today show might want to have on their program in the foreseeable future.
Here's what the Today show doesn't seem to understand. A good publicist is more than just the person who releases statements for you when you get caught driving drunk then spouting anti-Semitic epithets - a good publicist is like a mother, protective to the point of psychosis. So when somebody messes with one of Stephen Huvane's clients...have any of you ever seen the Sally Field movie Eye for an Eye? Yeah. That's how people like Stephen Huvane roll when you mess with their babies (unless of course said babies decide to sign with another agency, then it's like they never existed). So the lesson for people like the Today show producers is this: check with people before you do stories on them. Don't go reporting stuff until you've called the publicist and found out exactly what you're supposed to say. Programs like the Today show aren't about independent journalism, they're about selling crap. And since celebs are the biggest commodity in the world today - well, it just doesn't pay to tick off their publicists does it? Especially not the catty ones.
Speculation has been running rampant about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes's well-protected little bundle of pooping joy Suri: what does the baby look like, does it have its mother's eyes, will it possess magical Scientology powers like its father? Well, apparently, Suri isn't as much of a mystery as some have been led to believe - in fact, Suri has already been seen by many people. According to New York Daily News columnist Ben Widdicombe (a certified hottie if you ask me), Suri was present at a recent birthday bash for Jaden Smith, son of midget actress Jada Pinkett Smith. According to one eyewitness, little Suri, "is a beautiful baby. She had no deformities that I could see! She has a gorgeous head full of dark, curly hair, and she resembles both parents, though she looks slightly more like Tom." So there you go speculation-monkeys - Suri Cruise is not deformed. She does not have octopus limbs, or three eyes, or a satellite dish sticking out of her butt. She looks like - gasp! - a baby. A human baby. Not some kind of bizarre half-fish/half-chimpanzee but a regular human baby.
Let me summarize the logic of people who've speculated that Suri Cruise must be deformed or at least very ugly: Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes have decided not to subject their innocent child to public scrutiny, therefore it must be The Elephant Baby. Makes perfect sense to me.
Breaking News: Keanu Reeves Runs Red Light at LAX. Okay, "Breaking News" Might Be a Little Over-the-Top.
Reclusive movie star and super-hottie Keanu Reeves got himself pulled over at LAX today for running a red-light, so reports celebrity gossip site TMZ. The incident happened at around 3:00pm local time, and ended in Reeves being let off with a warning. My own sources tell me that Reeves has long had trouble remembering what the different color traffic lights mean. Oh, stop Crabbie - it isn't nice to pick on a man like that. Especially not one as delish as Keanu.
I remember one time when I was in one of my depressions, a bad one like I sometimes get because of this damned chemical imbalance (my mother smoked too many Luckies when she was pregnant with me). I was in such a terrible funk that all I wanted to do was lay around the house scooping ice cream down my throat and watching the tube (you know, like every other day), and suddenly in the midst of the darkness there came this vision: it was Keanu in that movie Sweet November, you know, the one with Charlize Theron as the kookie broad who used to be Sandy Dennis back in the old days. I tell you, watching Keanu in that movie just perked me right up. I thought to myself, "If Keanu Reeves can drag himself through a piece of horse crap like this, then I can surely roust myself out of bed and do something with my life." And I did. Of course the "something" wasn't much more than going into the kitchen to whip myself up a souffle, but hey, you know what they say - a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single dessert.
Big-boobed Scarlett Johansson and just-plain-boob Josh Hartnett, romantically linked for awhile now, have apparently decided to take the plunge - no, not that plunge; I mean the one into mutual home-ownership (which once upon a time meant they had already taken the other plunge, but these being the times they are, it only means the two of them are sick of restaurant bathrooms). The loft, located in New York's uber-hip TriBeCa (you know it's uber-hip because Robert De Niro lives there - yeah right!), set the pair back six-million smackers, and for that amount of money it's no surprise Scarlett put in a little request to the building's owners - that they add a little extra sound-proofing to the bedroom. Scarlett, you naughty girl, what exactly were you thinking of doing in that bedroom? On second thought, don't tell me. I'd rather not think of the pounding poor Josh is going to take from those cannonballs of yours. Honestly, if I live to be a thousand, I'll never see the appeal. I mean think about it boys - your mom has a pair of those. Liza Minnelli has them. Fricking Nancy Grace has them. So how great can they really be?
The little pissing match earlier this year between Woody Allen and his old producer Jean Doumanian has resulted in Doumanian being forced to cough up $95,000 in legal fees and other penalties. The unpleasantness between the former friends resulted from a disagreement over how to cut some of Allen's movies for TV presentation, Doumanian electing to dub in new words in place of swears while Allen preferred bleeping (someone should look into bleeping out all of Celebrity, and blacking out the image too while they're at it). In 2001, Allen accused Doumanian and her personal assistant, Jacqui Safra, of screwing him out of $12 million dollars in earnings from his films (must've been a lot of films to add up to $12 million), and won an undisclosed settlement in 2002. Now that the latest case has been settled, Allen can return to boning his daughter, who I heard just graduated from junior high, and drooling over Scarlett Johansson on the side, while Doumanian goes back to selling Pakistani kids scraps of her underwear so she can buy booze.
Skanky heiress/media-whore Paris Hilton loves animals, but apparently animals do not have such positive feelings about her. At least her pet monkey Baby Luv doesn't (I wonder if Paris Hilton even knows who The Supremes are). The other day, Baby Luv, perhaps driven crazy by the fumes emanating from Paris's nethers, decided to bite its mistress on the arm, sending Paris to the hospital. Ms. Hilton was given a tetanus shot; no word yet on what shots the monkey was given.
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Crabbie's Hollywood - jumping ugly with the stars since 2006.
Posted by Melvin Ayatollahofrock'nrolla at 5:20 PM