Some one got hold of a private phone conversation Paula Abdul had, where she discusses among other things her ex-publicist whose behavior apparently made her feel poopy, and the fact that she has something wrong with her adrenal glands and her neck. There's also some crap in there about her being too old to be on the cover of a magazine - I don't know, it's halfway incomprehensible. Anyway Perez has done us all the marvelous favor of posting the thing, so here it is.
Some one got hold of a private phone conversation Paula Abdul had, where she discusses among other things her ex-publicist whose behavior apparently made her feel poopy, and the fact that she has something wrong with her adrenal glands and her neck. There's also some crap in there about her being too old to be on the cover of a magazine - I don't know, it's halfway incomprehensible. Anyway Perez has done us all the marvelous favor of posting the thing, so here it is.
Posted by Melvin Ayatollahofrock'nrolla at 6:23 PM
Mischa Barton's parents don't want their daughter having anything to do with ex-boyfriend Cisco Adler. To their dismay, however, Mischa doesn't seem to be entirely over him. This sad fact came to light this weekend during Mischa's hospital stay over a bad reaction to
some shrooms liquor and antibiotics. Mischa's parents, Paul Marsden Barton and Nuala Quinn, rushed to be by her side - only to catch her talking to Cisco on the phone.
And how do they know it was Cisco? A source explains:
[Mischa's parents] were angry about her condition. When they left the room, she ran to the phone and tried to call Cisco Adler. ... Her dad came back into the room, and heard Mischa deliriously saying, "Cisco." ... Her dad freaked out. She put the phone down, but he yelled at the staff about letting her use the phone.
I can just see Mischa now. She's lying in bed, on the verge of death. She sees a white light. A voice tells her, "Come to the light Mischa." Then Cisco appears, naked, his balls hanging almost to the floor. "Run from the light Mischa," the balls beseech. "You're too young to die from shrooms...er...booze and antibiotics. Come stroke me Mischa. Lick me. Rub me between your tits."
Well, who could blame Mischa for refusing the pearly gates? Obviously, she wanted to call Cisco as soon as possible and thank his balls for saving her. In fact, I think we should all thank Cisco's balls. Indeed, they are a fine set of balls.
The ever-delusional Michael Jackson is still planning a comeback (as he has been doing non-stop for the last fifteen years). As part of this endeavor, Michael had hoped that fellow musical icon Prince would join him on-stage. Prince, however, has declined Michael's invitation - and the freakish one is said to be very upset. Said a source to British newspaper The Sun:
Michael seemed pretty gutted about it. He said he's approached Prince to see if he would like to work together. But Prince wasn't interested in gigging with him. ... There would be so much hype surrounding (his) first gig, it would end up turning into the Michael Jackson show. ... Prince had his own plans. He is a legend in his own right. He doesn't need to be supported by anyone.
But it's more than just Prince not needing to be supported - it's that Prince doesn't want anything to do with the trainwreck that is Michael Jackson. Prince didn't get to be where he is right now by being a dummy. He knows full-well that anything Michael does at this point is almost certain to be a calamity, and he's got more than enough sense to stay far, far away from that. And as for Michael being upset - well, I'd say hand him a tissue, but what would he need it for when he doesn't have a nose?
Face it Michael, you child-molesting quasi-human - you're over. You've been over for a long time. This is what happens to people who lose touch with reality - they cease being able to gauge what audiences want, and their careers go down in flames because of it. The world moved on Michael, but you just got weirder and more immersed in your creepy fantasies. Now it's time for you to retire to some kind of Howard Hughes-like seclusion, so we won't have to witness the spectacle of you systematically freakifying your children. Take them into your dopey Peter Pan lair with you and lock the door Michael. We'll look forward to the day, ten years hence, when CNN runs the newsflash about how you were murdered in your sleep, and Blanket has been taken into custody. It's Blanket's destiny, I think, to rid us of you once and for all.
Victoria Beckham is not renowned for her intelligence. But, occasionally, even a rank idiot says something insightful and on-target, as Victoria did when she uttered the following about the ever-growing fraternity of celebrity bloggers:
I think these people are pretty spineless, the way they hide behind pseudo-names. They don't really know what's going on in anybody's lives. They're just sad people that sit behind their computers.
Perhaps I should be upset by those remarks, but I'm not. The fact is that Poshy is right - we are spineless people hiding behind pseudo-names (she meant "pseudonyms" obviously, but we get the drift). We don't really know what's going on in anyone's lives. And, by and large, we are sad people (who do most assuredly sit behind computers).
However, I do have this to ask in response to you Posh: Do you honestly think you're going to make us go away by calling us sad wretches and pointing out our cowardliness? If you really want us to go away, Posh, maybe you should stop giving us material. Maybe you should cease staging scenes, like the one in L.A. last week where you pretended to have been pulled over. Perhaps, if you don't want your life to become a matter of public discussion, you should desist in your habit of tipping off the paparazzi when you're going to be somewhere. Sorry Posh, but though you're correct on the surface, you have nonetheless demonstrated what a shallow, imbecilic, transparent twit you are.
You, Posh, are famous for one thing - being famous. Without the paps, the tabs, and yes the bloggers, no one would even know who the hell you were. And how then would you satisfy your insatiable need to be fawned over, photographed, and otherwise made a big deal of? My suggestion, Vicky, would be not to bite the hand that feeds you. For though we may make fun of you and call you hurtful things (vapid, ferret-faced cunt), at least we are paying attention to you - and that's really all you should ultimately care about. Because the second we stop paying attention to you, then you become what you actually are - another fake-titted slag jumping up and down in the stands while her husband engages in endeavors which accord real glory and accomplishment.
Yes Posh, we are on to you - we know you are nothing but a frivolous publicity-hound. It doesn't matter that we don't "really know what's going on" in your life. We know about your public life - your dumb outfits which always put your erect nipples on display, your publicity stunts, your stupid expressions which you think make you look cool, but only make you seem even more ridiculously mindless. What about you, Posh, is supposed to make you so superior to us anyway? Your looks? Don't make me laugh. Your money? Your fame? None of these impress us Posh - we know your looks are fake, your money unearned, your fame perpetuated through cynical and crudely manipulative means. But you entertain us Posh - you amuse us precisely because you are so worthless and phony. And that's why we write about you - because your existence is a treasure-trove of comic material. You're a joke Posh, but sadly you don't see it. Maybe if you did you'd realize that you're not so much better than all us sad, spineless people with our "pseudo-names" and our computers. It's all one racket Poshy, and we're all just trying to get a share.
Lindsay Lohan is a menace to public safety, and apparently her antics aren't doing much to help the establishments she frequents on a nightly basis either.
One such posh club, Les Deux, may be in fact be in trouble with the California Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control, who have contacted the Beverly Hills Police department about reviewing evidence pertaining to the Lohan matter, and specifically whether Les Deux knowingly served the under-aged Lindsay alcohol.
I wonder if Les Deux will try the Lindsay defense - swearing it was just bottled water. It only magically turned into alcohol after entering Lindsay's system. That's one even Dina Lohan could appreciate.
Someone needs to explain to me why Perez has such a bur up his ass about Avril Lavigne. Did she refuse to have her picture taken with him once or something? Whatever the genesis of the ill-feeling, Perez seems intent on milking it for all it's worth (something I can certainly appreciate - I've gotten tons of mileage out of my own disdain for him).
The latest volley in this rather unaccountable feud has come courtesy the Gossip Ganstar himself, who on his blog today announced that both he and Avril will be present at the MuchMusic Video Awards June 17th, and that if she comes near him he will expectorate into her face. Of course Perez is all talk - he no more has the nerve to fire a loogie into Avril's mush than he does to really make fun of Paris. Still, it would be funny if something happened. Like, for instance, if Avril showed up packing heat, and rather than merely splash Perez with a little saliva, she blew his head off. I think I'd probably die laughing.
By the way, is Perez planning on replacing the header he had to remove because it featured a stolen image soon? His site looks stupid without one.
Here's Paris Hilton painting a ceramic bear. Sickening isn't it, the kind of stuff rich useless people do with their free time?
Of course, underneath the calm exterior, Paris Hilton is all turmoil and anxiety. According to People magazine, Paris is spending the days until her jail term trying to act normal (i.e. frivolous and stupid) in public, but behind closed doors the mentally challenged heiress is said to cry a lot, and is reportedly distressed that so many of her "friends" have abandoned her. Poor Paris, she has learned the bitterest lesson fame can teach - that all those people who supposedly like you are only pretending. Sort of like Paris only pretends to like Nicole. Except that Paris's ex-friends are obviously better actors, or maybe Paris is just that gullible. At any rate, Paris will soon be in the special needs area of the detention center, going slowly insane from the tedium of not being able to shop, or paint ceramic bears, or snort blow or be fucked by a junkie underwear model with a strap-on. I almost feel sorry for her.
Seeing starving Ethiopians has made Angelina Jolie averse to food (at least according to her brother James Haven). Apparently, Nicole Richie has been spending a lot of time in Ethiopia as well, and is similarly guilt-ridden. Either that or bitch is just trying to slowly kill herself.
Britney Spears has gotten her life in order and is serious about making a comeback. This, at any rate, is what we're all supposed to think. Skepticism ensues, however, when we read stories like the new one in Britain's Sun newspaper, which details Britney's unfortunate experience at L.A.'s Sky Club in the Mondrian Hotel over the weekend.
Britney, reports the Sun, arrived at the Sky Club in the company of five hangers-on. One assumes they immediately began drinking heavily - this is at any rate a fair thing to infer, given that, an hour after the pop-star arrived, hotel security found her in the men's bathroom, slumped over the toilet with her make-up smeared and her wig half hanging off. A source describes the scene thusly:
She looked a real mess and was sitting on the floor with her head over the bowl throwing up. ... There was vomit down the front of her black dress and around her mouth. ... Britney was on her knees and must have been sick four or five times. She didn’t really seem with it, but I don’t know if she was drunk or not.
The source may be reticent to say one way or the other whether Britney had been imbibing, but rest assured, reverse peristalsis does not normally occur without a good reason. Especially not four or five times. Britney, however, was not without a measure of grace in the midst of her misfortune. As she was dragged "sobbing and covered in sick" from the Sky Club, she reportedly uttered to the staff, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Things aren’t going well for me at the moment."
At the moment, no Britney, they don't appear to be. But thankfully you've got publicity people to continue throwing together things like the utterly absurd statement that was posted on your website, which reads in part:
Recently, I was sent to a very humbling place called rehab. I truly hit rock-bottom. Till this day I don’t think that it was alcohol or depression.
Was rehab rock-bottom Britney? Was the men's bathroom at the Sky Club? Sadly, I don't think you can even see rock bottom yet, from where you are. You've got a lot of sinking still to do before you reach that fabled place. And no, of course you don't think it was alcohol or depression Britney - you think it was the paparazzi and your parents and your vile ex-husband. In other words, everyone and everything except you and your precious booze.
James Haven likes to talk about his sister Angelina Jolie - a lot. In fact, I think she's the only thing he ever does talk about. Or think about. Actually, I don't think James really has any existence outside of his sister, which is kind of sad. She isn't really all that interesting. But, to him she is - so interesting that, every chance he gets, he yammers to one magazine or another about what a magnificent creature she is, and gives some wacky explanation for why she does stuff. Lately, James has been talking a lot about Angelina's health - specifically, the fact that she looks almost as frail and skinny as Nicole Richie. He seems obsessed with the subject. Mostly, he keeps insisting that Angie's weight-loss is related to the death of their mother Marcheline Bertrand, who was apparently the most stupendous being who ever existed, next to Angie. But, James has other explanations for Angie's frailness too. In fact he's concocted quite a doozy, which he gave to the British magazine Closer in an interview. According to James, Angie's weight-loss is actually partly related to her charity work in third-world countries. You see, Angie's eating habits are not the same as they used to be, and James knows why. Says James:
Angie visited Ethiopia and it changed her life. It's hard for her to go home to a very expensive restaurant and order freely.
Picture it: Angelina sitting in The Ivy or some other swanky restaurant. She wants to order that crowned rack of lamb, but then she remembers some poor little waif she saw, his belly all distended from the gases and flies buzzing around his face, and she just can't bring herself to do it. So she tells the waiter to bring her a sprig of parsley and a saltine instead. Oh, Angelina - you are such a sensitive being. Even your gastronomic tendencies are dictated by your deep and abiding love for all the poor, downtrodden (non-white) people of the world. I bet you can't even take a proper shit, can you, because every time you sit on that clean white toilet you think of some wretched orphan taking a dump in a muddy hole full of nasty bacteria and your sphincter just cinches shut like a Glad bag. My goodness, Angelina - what callous, unfeeling creatures the rest of us must be, filling our faces while the poor orphans are starving. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves, going on with our privileged, blob-like lives while so many suffer. But, thankfully, we have you to show us the light, Angelina. You endure your sympathy-anorexia so the rest of us might see. Now we appreciate how truly horrible and thoughtless we are for not living the way you do. Not devoting our lives to accumulating a family of color-coordinated adopted children. And jetting around the world to have our pictures taken in various examples of local garb while our bodyguards busy themselves roughing up anyone who gets too close. And making movies like Mr. and Mrs. Smith and Tomb Raider, which contribute so much to the betterment of human-kind. You, Angelina, truly are an exalted being. In fact, I think it's possible that you may be Jesus - with tits.
Lots of stars preach about global warming - but few demonstrate the same concern when it comes to their own modes of transportation. Leonardo DiCaprio? Oh yeah, he cares so much about the earth - just not enough to give up flying all over creation on carbon-dioxide-spewing private jets. And Brad Pitt? Yeah, he's preaching it too. Then when he's done preaching he climbs on his carbon-emitting motorcycle and joy-rides around. There are some stars, though, who are willing to put their sweet rides aside in the name of the earth's fragile climate. Matthew McConaughey for example. He's come up with a novel approach to avoiding pollution - highway surfing. Just grab a skateboard, strap your surfboard to your back and let a friend on a bike pull you through traffic. And helmets? Who the hell needs helmets? God gave you a skull, didn't He? What more protection does your spoiled little brain need?
Matthew McConaughey - he's hot and he cares.
Mary-Kate Olsen smells like...
A. The backseat of a taxi.
B. The old couch Crabbie finally had to drag out back and burn.
C. A room baseball players hang out in.
D. Lindsay Lohan's hamper.
E. Something so unspeakably vile that Satan himself could not inhale it without immediately lapsing into a coma.
Ashley Judd can barely contain her excitement after her husband, hot Italian race-car driver Dario Franchitti, wins the Indianapolis 500. Dario, on the other hand, seems slightly bemused. All right, he's more than slightly bemused - he's wondering why his crazy wife is running around taking all the attention away from him on his big day. Jesus Ashley, it's not like you just got nominated for an Oscar (which of course will never actually happen).
"My husband is so marvelous. He can drive a race-car and balance a huge trophy on his head. Now if he'd just learn cunningulus..."
"Hee-hee, huh-huh, hmm-hmm, ho-ho, hee-hee, hnn-hnn...Renfield."
"Dear God, please let my husband win the car race, so that I may achieve a sense of vicarious triumph, and thereby slightly make up for the fact that my acting career is a joke. And please let my fat sister's ex-husband learn that it's not right to touch little boys' peepees. And please, please let my mother and sister burn in hell forever for making me sweep out the tour-bus for fifty cents a day. And please, God, if you would, please see your way clear to putting a few more acupuncturists out in the African bush, so that the next time I am on a U.N. mission and I need an acupuncturist, I won't have to settle for some skinny black dude jabbing me with little slivers of elephant tusk. Oh, and God, thank you for having the black dude jab me with his other thing later - that was really nice of you. Hugs."
This is Emmy Rossum and her boyfriend together in Malibu. I have no idea who this guy is, but he just reeks of "aspiring screenwriter who works at Kinko's, and buys his clothes at trendy mall stores." I bet he writes her poetry. Or he must have a 15 incher. There's got to be some explanation for why Emmy would fuck a guy who looks like Marilyn Manson's uglier, less-cool little brother.
Emmy, you are a beautiful movie actress. Why does your boyfriend look like a gawky adolescent trying for his first kiss at the junior-high dance? I bet his breath smells like Doritos. Got to be 15 inches at least. Nobody's that good a poet.
Posted by Melvin Ayatollahofrock'nrolla at 8:03 AM
In Touch Weekly is reporting that Lindsay Lohan has checked herself into the Promises rehab facility, and was due to report there this afternoon. This comes after a crazy weekend of action for Lindsay, which included a car crash, a DUI arrest, news that she had cocaine in her vehicle and some pictures taken a day later showing her vomiting, and passed out in Samantha Ronson's car.
It's probably a good idea for Lindsay to go into rehab right now - you know, lay low for awhile in a place where the paps can't get at her. She'll have a good month in there to figure out exactly what lies she's going to tell everyone.
Yo put the camera down bro. Come on dog, that ain't cool.
Michael Lohan cares deeply about his troubled child Lindsay - you can tell because he keeps giving TV interviews and releasing statements to the media. Because what Lindsay needs more than anything else right now is for every single tiny aspect of her existence to be placed before the public. Jeez Michael, a little self-serving are we? Whatever - here's the statement this bible-thumping charlatan (yes I realize that's a redundancy) sent to X17:
Lindsay needs to find God, get better, clean house and start all over again with the people who were there for her at the beginning: her family. Too many people are around Lindsay for the wrong reasons. They want to see what they can get from her instead of caring about Lindsay herself. I’m her father. I don’t want anything from her but her love and to be her father first. I’m here for Lindsay as a father and a father only.
And it’s about time that her mother Dina stop building up the walls of division between myself and my children—especially Lindsay. And if Dina really cares about out children--especially Lindsay-- then she should do the right thing so we can both be there as parents. Because what Lindsay needs are both parents. I wish Dina would put things aside and act the way God wants us to: right the wrongs and not compound the wrongs.
I hope Lindsay finally gets the help that she needs. I want her to know that her Daddy is here for her.
Actually, Michael, what Lindsay needed was to not have people like you and that hideous gargoyle of a mother Dina raising her. But I guess that ship has sailed, hasn't it? The damage is done. Lindsay is now an out-of-control head-case, who can only end up one of two places - jail or the morgue. And it's all because of you and Dina teaching her to make excuses and blame other people instead of facing up to her own issues. Yes, Dina teaches her to lie and prevaricate and make bizarre self-contradictory statements, and bullshit her way through everything instead of taking responsibility. And now you want her to "find God?" Right Michael - because people who pretend to believe in God are above reproach. You yourself probably think you should be forgiven for every transgression of your life because you've devoted yourself to Jesus. And who could ever criticize someone who has found the righteous path? People like you make me sick - the way you try to hide your shamelessness and greed and self-interest behind your pretend convictions. It's nothing but another racket you've discovered. And now you want Lindsay to become a hypocrite too. Wear a crucifix and they'll know you're a good person no matter what you do, right Michael? Then it doesn't matter if you behave in a socially irresponsible manner - you've got Jesus on your side. God, why can't all you self-righteous phonies end up in a heap on the floor of your office like that pasty criminal fiend Falwell? The world would be better off without you, and so frankly would your daughter.
Naughty little Pixie Geldof has gone and gotten herself suspended from school for drinking and smoking. The 16-year-old daughter of professional deep-carerer-about-things Bob was allegedly caught downing Bacardi Breezers and beer and smelling of smoke - what no coke? This chick's got a long way to go before she can top Lindsay. Still, her offenses were enough to get her suspended from the exclusive educational institution, Alleyn's School, where she is currently enrolled. Her father Bob is said to be angry too - apparently it's a big deal to get into this Alleyn's School joint, and Bob is mad at Pixie for screwing with her education, and for diminishing her little half-sister Tiger Lily's chances of getting into the same place. Oh yeah, Bob - you are so rock and roll man. Sweating your daughter getting suspended from some snotty school. Aren't you supposed to be encouraging her to drink and smoke and behave irresponsibly? You're nothing but an establishment wanker, Geldof. Why don't you go home and plant some geraniums and listen to your Tubular Bells CD you lame fuck.
Keds pitchwoman Mischa Barton fell ill at a Memorial Day weekend BBQ and was rushed to a hospital, reports TMZ. Initial indications are that Mischa was drinking alcohol while taking antibiotics for bronchitis - what, you thought she ate too many ribs and got a tummy ache? Word from the hospital is that Mischa is resting comfortably, and is waiting for someone to sneak her in a joint.
So Mischa was taking these "antibiotics" and was drinking and suddenly got sick. Uh-huh. And it's just a coincidence that this happened the same weekend Lindsay got nailed for DUI? Never in a million years would Mischa contrive an illness on purpose just for attention. She's above that sort of thing. Completely.
Angelina took Maddox and Pax to play with some killer whales at Marineland in Paris. By the above picture, it appears Maddox is a complete pussy who won't go next to the water. "You feed the thing bitch," Maddox said to Angie when she prevailed upon him to take his turn. Pax, apparently, is not quite as big a pansy as his faux-brother though:
"There you go killer whale. Partake of this fish even as I partake of the sweet flesh of sorrow. Oh to be back among my own kind in the opium den where the smoke made happy visions dance in my troubled mind. Will the gods never tire of vexing me, tell me oh oracle of the deep?"
"What do you think of his color Pax? Is he brown enough for you?"
X17 has an account of the events leading up to Lindsay Lohan's car crash and DUI arrest yesterday morning (which I will re-write on behalf of everyone with more than a fifth-grade education). Sources say Lindsay was partying at a house belonging to some fellow named Nick Hawk when a fight broke out, presumably involving Lohan. The actress was subsequently seen vacating the premises in a bad mood, leaving her bodyguard Jez to deal with the aftermath of the unpleasantness while she waited in the car. Skip ahead to 5 am. We find ourselves at Lohan's personal residence in Beverly Hills. Lohan's alleged lesbian lover DJ Samantha Ronson is seen storming away from the place. She walks up Doheny to Sunset with Lindsay in pursuit. Lindsay catches Samantha on the median of Sunset and begins arguing with her. Lindsay shouts "You fucking lesbian bitch" at one point, according to X17's photographers. This all winds up with Lindsay, Samantha and a male friend climbing into Lindsay's 2005 Mercedes convertible and speeding off down Sunset. Apparently while trying to navigate a turn onto Foothill Road, an inebriated, upset Lindsay drives up on the curb and into some hedges, badly damaging the car. Lindsay suffers a minor injury to her upper chest, while Samantha and the male friend are uninjured. A phone call is placed to faithful bodyguard Jaz who shows up in his Mercedes G-Wagon. Jaz drives the wrecked Mercedes convertible home while one of Lindsay's companions takes the G-Wagon and drives Lindsay and the other passengers back to Lindsay's place and then to the hospital.
Lohan has since been cited for misdemeanor DUI, and in a press conference yesterday afternoon it was revealed by Beverly Hills police that a usable amount of a substance believed to be cocaine was discovered on the scene. It was not revealed if "on the scene" means "in Lindsay's car," but since the investigation involved a wrecked vehicle, I'm assuming the police would not have had a warrant to search anywhere else on Lindsay's property. Therefore, we're assuming the coke was found somewhere in the car. Here's the thing though - the car was at Lindsay's place after Jaz drove it there, and so far we don't know how long it took for the police to arrive at Lindsay's place to do their investigation. I'm assuming there would've been time for Jaz to thoroughly look the car over and make sure there was nothing incriminating in it. In which case it appears Jaz was negligent in his duties as faithful bodyguard. Unless, of course, the coke was not in the car when Jaz searched it. Which would mean that someone put the coke in there between the time Jaz brought it home and the time the police came to get it. I bring this up not because I think someone is trying to frame Lindsay Lohan, but because I know this is exactly what Lindsay and her heinous mother Dina are thinking about right now. I will bet you all I have in the world - which ain't much, I grant you - that these shameless fuckers come out saying Lindsay was framed. And even if they can't prove it, they will still maintain it. In fifteen years when this subject comes up in some Whatever Happened to Lindsay Lohan special, a prematurely elderly Lohan will still be looking into the camera saying, "I was set up. They were out to get me. They were all out to get me." After which she will began hacking uncontrollably, and scratching at the suppurating sores on her arms.
Jude Law has dumped his girlfriend of three months Kim Hersov, freeing him up to fuck his way around planet earth.
Shag-happy Jude made the Cannes Film Festival his first stop as a single man. He reportedly flirted with My Blueberry Nights co-star Norah Jones on the red-carpet, but Ms. Jones was said to be less than responsive. Then Jude allegedly "made a beeline for" Jessica Simpson at a party for the movie The Hands of Gods. Simpson was said to be smitten with Jude, who was originally reported to have snottily uttered, "What's she doing here," upon spying Simpson (so much for that). Later, Jude went to a Playboy party full of mostly-naked women, where he reportedly "enjoyed himself."
At the rate he's going, I expect Jude to have made his way through the entire Simpson family, including Papa Joe, within the next month, after which he will move on to Britney Spears, then Jamie Lynn, then Alli just for the hell of it. Then he'll slobber his way over to Hayden Panettiere, and having used her up and tossed her out, will stagger drooling toward Dakota Fanning before being shot with a dart loaded with elephant tranquilizer.
X17 is reporting that Lindsay Lohan was involved in an accident early this morning, which resulted in her and a passenger receiving minor injuries, and Lindsay herself being cited for DUI.
The incident reportedly occurred in the early morning hours in Beverly Hills, at the corner of Sunset Blvd. and Foothill Dr. Lohan allegedly lost control of her vehicle, a Mercedes SL 65 AMG black convertible, crashing it. She and her unidentified passengers left the scene, climbing into a second vehicle and driving away. A witness at the scene who recognized Lindsay called the Sheriff's Office, who arrived to tow Lindsay's car away. Lindsay and her passengers were reportedly taken to the hospital, where Lindsay was treated for a minor injury to the upper chest area. Police tracked Lohan to the hospital where she placed under arrest. She was cited at the police station and released, and has been ordered to appear in court at a future date to answer the DUI citation. A photographer for X17 reports that Lindsay looked "completely wasted" around 5 am when she left a Hollywood Hills party, climbed in her Mercedes with her friend and drove off.
There has been no official word from Lohan's camp yet, but Crabbie has gone into the future and obtained the following statement from her asinine mother Dina:
Lindsay is a young woman. We all make mistakes. I'm proud of her. She will get through this and be stronger. People want to judge her but we all do dumb things when we're young. If you live in a glass house you shouldn't throw stones. Lindsay has her life together and she's in a good place. Hollywood is a rough place sometimes. No one else knows what it's like to have everyone watching you like that. Lindsay is a very strong person and after this she will be even stronger. By the way, I'm going to be on Entertainment Tonight tomorrow interviewing Lindsay about her new movie. Check it out.
Guess Lindsay's dad Michael knew what he was talking about the other day when he said Lindsay should be back in rehab.
(source 1, source 2)
Update: Lieutenant Mitch McCann of the Beverly Hills Police Department says a usable amount of cocaine was found at the scene. So, presumably, Lindsay was driving around in a car, drunk, with cocaine on her, crashed, then fled the scene, leaving the coke in the car for the cops to find. Oh goodness - this bitch is not only fucked-up, she is rock stupid.
(thanks to poster dvz for the tip)
"Yeah baby we're at the pool. Naw she's sleepin'. Listen, I'll ditch the ho and then I'll be right over. Yeah, I'll bring the wooden fist too. And my red light-bulb and Lionel Richie CD. Yeah I can't wait. Okay, I'll see you Dwayne..."
"Fabulicious. No that sounds stupid. I know, Fubnificent. No. Damn, I'm bad at this. Okay, I got it - Fabuliciousificent. Dang, that's great. I gotta get that embroidered on a pillow..."
"What you talkin' 'bout Willis."
"What's that little fucker Crabbie saying about me now..."
What sort of bizarre impression is Angelina Jolie leaving on the people of Prague? The actress, as you know, is in the historic Czech city filming a Hollywood thriller called Wanted. It has in many ways been an eventful visit for Jolie, who at one point early on called the city the most horrible on earth, declaring it "even worse than Africa." This because the paparazzi there had taken some pictures of her adopted children, causing her to have a fit and lock herself in a bathroom. This is not the image she normally projects - typically we think of Angelina as a serene presence, almost saintly, the way she ministers to the sick and displaced people of the world, and occasionally picks one out to take home with her. But we mustn't forget that Angelina was a Hollywood star before she was the savior of the earth, and that an actress of her talent is more than capable of projecting serenity if it's called for. Indeed, at times Angelina seems little more than a performer who has decided to make all the world literally her stage, and all the world's orphans her fellow protagonists in an on-going drama, Angelina Saves the World.
Is she deluded or merely a brilliant self-promoter - what Paris Hilton would be if she had any honest ambition or brains? The people of Prague might be forgiven if they chose the former. At the very least the Praguians must suspect Angelina of having peculiar habits. I bring this up because of an article in the Daily Mail detailing one particular habit of Angelina's that has got people over there talking. The actress, it seems, has herself driven around in a big black SUV, which tends to careen at rather high speeds along the streets (important people can't be bothered to worry about public safety). Every morning Angelina rides with her adopted Cambodian son Maddox to the English-language school she has enrolled him in, so his education won't lapse during their stay in the city. Along the route from the hotel to the school, the SUV is seen to frequently stop, the window roll down and an arm poke out (which the Daily Mail compares to the spindly upper extremities of E.T.). A finger points - inevitably at some individual innocently going about their business on the sidewalk. Witnesses to this daily ritual say the pointee is invariably a person of black or Asian descent - a "person of color" to use that rather sickly, demeaning appellation. The arm quickly retracts, it is said, and the window winds up, and the SUV continues on its urgent, oblivious way.
So why, exactly, is Angelina Jolie going around Prague pointing at black and Asian people? According to the inevitable "sources close to the star," Angelina is in fact thinking of adopting again (shock of shocks), and the pointing business is actually part of her process. It's a little like choosing a shade of paint for one's living room - first you look at samples, and discuss the selection of hues with whoever else is involved in the decision. In this case the pedestrians of Prague are the paint-samples, and Maddox is the concerned party whose council Angelina is asking. Put in simple terms - Angelina Jolie is driving around Prague pointing "people of color" out to Maddox and asking him what he thinks of the shade. This because Angelina has become consumed with the notion that her "ethnic" children must have counterparts in the family who resemble them. And not only in general racial terms - no, it's not enough for Angelina to match Maddox up with another Asian (Pax), and African daughter Zahara with another yet-to-be-selected African. Angelina must get the skin tones right - she must pick a color that exactly matches.
It is creepy enough on the surface, but then you get to really think about it, and it develops layers of creepiness that make Angelina kissing her brother on television seem as innocent as apple pie and freckly-faced toddlers. What, one asks oneself, is Angelina actually saying to Maddox as she points out these "ethnic" people on the street? "What do you think of that one? Is that too dark? Do you think Zahara would like a sister who was that shade? Will that one go with the drapes do you think?" And what of little Maddox, being taught that people are basically pigment-samples - that the folks he spies out his SUV window are not individual human beings at all but examples of various hues whose underlying existence is utterly irrelevant. "Look mommy, there goes an orange one." Is Maddox doomed to spend the rest of his life viewing the human race the same way a home-improvement enthusiast views a card displaying different shades of brown? And what does all this say about Angelina's view of humanity, exactly? When she travels to all these countries full of "ethnic" people, does she view them as people at all, or merely as a collection of different-colored faces whose "ethnicity" makes them prime candidates for rescue? Would Angelina, in fact, adopt a white baby at all?
Perhaps we could give Angelina some kind of exam. Question: Is a white baby who's poor and suffering the same as a black or yellow baby who's poor and suffering? Question: Is a child worthy of sympathy because of the circumstances they're born into, or because of their race? Question: Does white automatically equal privileged? Question: Are all white babies blobs? Question: What will happen if you pick a sister for Zahara who isn't "black enough?" Question: Is your compulsive need for racial balance in your own family in fact a reflection of your essential inability to see past a person's color, and is your need to act as mother-figure to all the "ethnic" children of the world an elaborate means of compensating for what you sub-consciously recognize as your own inherent racism? Question: Are you, Angelina, the epitome of the self-hating white person?
This all brings me back to one of my initial observations, the one about Angelina locking herself in the bathroom and howling about the horribleness of Prague. That sort of temper tantrum can't, I think, be chalked up to outrage over her kids being photographed. It wasn't the violation of her and her children's privacy that really bothered her - it was that the paparazzi had made her feel like she was not in control. Angelina, it's clear, is one of these colossally insecure people who feel the need to manipulate each and every aspect of their daily life, so that it conforms with some bizarre image they've concocted of the ideal existence. Angie has clearly bought into her own Mother Teresa act, and more so her loopy ideas of racial balance within the family. Wanting to select a child with the exact skin-tone to match the ones she already has is not simply the act of a twisted kind of racist, but of a veritable obsessive-compulsive. Angelina apparently takes control-freak to new heights. And when those paps started taking those pictures - Angelina felt her control slipping away and she flipped. This is what happens to people like Angie when they butt up against a reality that refuses to bend to their will. But, the racial make-up of her family is something she can manipulate - and how comforting must it be to her to know that, however antagonistic the outside world may become, she always has her little family life to retreat to, where she makes the rules, and even decides how dark or light the faces will be that she gets to look at every day. This gives us new insight, I think, into why Angelina was so averse to having a biological child. When you have a baby the old-fashioned way things are left a little too much to chance. What if the kid comes out deformed, or ugly, or too light or too dark? It's much safer to adopt kids, because then you get to look them over before you choose, and compare them to the walking pigment-samples.
I hope the people of Prague realize what a wonderful privilege it is to be part of Angelina's insanity.
John Travolta and his hideous wife Kelly Preston journeyed to Hawaii to appear at some event on behalf of Scientology's sham rehabilitation program Narcanon. But I'm not going to use this post as another occasion to slam Scientology - I'm just going to make fun of the way John and Kelly look. First of all, John. Vertical stripes and black. But on you, the slimming effect is negligible. We can still clearly tell that you are a fat fuck. Also, the hair. Big Propecia user are we? And what the hell is going on with your face anyway? Did you forget to remove some of the prosthetic applications they glued to it when you were filming Hairspray? Oh, and the hand-signal. Some sort of Scientology thing? A secret message to the Thetans? "Put the space-lasagna in the oven for me, I'll be home at seven."
And Kelly - no, I didn't forget about you sweetie. Looks to me like you've been working out a bit. Is that so you'll be strong enough to drag John out of the tub when the inevitable heart attack happens? But what then Kelly? You won't be calling an ambulance, we know, because you Scientologists don't believe in modern medicine. Perhaps while John is convulsing and foaming at the mouth you will just prevail on Xenu to spare him. "Please save my fat-ass husband from the bad Thetans who are casting their evil spell on his heart." Dumb bitch. Don't you know John's cholesterol is through the roof? Fucker doesn't need niacin or a sauna, he needs an angioplasty, maybe a bypass. And speaking of veins - dang Kelly, nice Angelina-arms. That must be what happens to you when you eat nothing but organic food. Of course, you save the organic stuff for yourself, don't you Kelly? But you let your autistic son sit in front of the TV all day scarfing Cheez-It Twisterz. That's cause you're trying to kill him early so you won't have to suffer the shame of his existence anymore. At this rate you won't have John or Jett - and then you'll be happy, won't you murderess?
Rumer Willis and Hayden Panettiere really seem to enjoy each other's company. Really seem to enjoy it. You know, more than two chicks who are just hanging out. You know what I mean? Like, they have more than just a cool chicky friendship going. Are you getting my drift? They dig each other. Really dig each other. Like two people dig each other when they're not just hanging out at the mall and talking about boys on the phone. You picking up what I'm laying down here people? These broads are really into each other. And, let's face it - Rumer Willis? She's got to be one of those. Just look at her. The hair? The odd fashion sense? And Hayden - she's at that age, isn't she? The experimental age. You know, she's discovering new things about herself. New kinky things. Involving exotic implements and electrical stimulation. Not that I mean to insinuate anything. Cause, you know, I don't really know...
Paris Hilton continues accumulating pets even though she is about to go to jail. I wonder exactly who is going to take care of all of Paris's animals while she's in the clink. Maybe Perez will come over and do it for her. But no - Perez and Paris aren't pals anymore. Plus, Perez doesn't like animals - they're always biting him and trying to claw his eyes out. Whenever he walks into the room, living things have a tendency to behave as if the anti-Christ just entered. What's up with that?
And speaking of things being up with things (?), what's up with Paris's gloves? Lagerfeld wears gloves like that. And wrist-bands? Is she an aerobics instructor now? I think this chick has gone funny in the head.
L.A. County District Attorney Steve Cooley has announced he will not criminally prosecute actor Ryan O'Neal, who was arrested February 3rd for allegedly blowing away a newel post in an altercation with his son Griffin. Cooley cites "insufficient evidence" as the reason for dropping the case. Naturally, O'Neal's people are spinning this as vindication for their client, who maintains he was merely defending himself against an enraged Griffin. Griffin, however, charges that Ryan's actions led to the injury of his girlfriend, JoAnne Berry. In fact, Griffin hired harpyish lawyer Gloria Allred in hopes of nailing his father for allegedly smashing JoAnne in the face with a fireplace poker. Ryan has contended all along that Griffin was in fact the one who cracked JoAnne's skull with the iron implement. According to Griffin, the whole thing started because he had chained his drug-addict brother Redmond to the banister to keep him from doing more dope, and when Ryan discovered this he became unreasonable and violent. Didn't Griffin try to explain chaining his brother to the banister? Did they eschew rational interchange, going straight to the fireplace poker and the irresponsible discharge of fire-arms? I guess that's just how they do things in the O'Neal family.
Rosie O'Donnell's tenure on The View is coming to an end, and none too soon for those of us who can't stand this abominable creature and her shameless self-promoting antics. It was, in retrospect, a moronic decision for the show to hire her in the first place. Everyone should've seen the trainwreck that Rosie's participation would inevitably lead to. Of course it's possible that the producers were hoping for just such a catastrophe - and if this is the case, then I hope they're satisfied. Their caged animal co-host has raised their ratings and profile on the web - while destroying whatever slim credibility the show may have possessed, terrorizing an otherwise harmless little chipmunk-girl in Elisabeth Hasselbeck, and reducing Barbara Walters to the role of hapless, plastic-faced enabler. Plus, they have succeeded in making Rosie even more famous than she was before. Their show essentially became an opportunity for her to pick fights with people like Donald Trump, trumpet her pet causes and act like a big two-fisted lesbian bully. It all came to a head Wednesday when Rosie and Elisabeth had their now-infamous exchange:
The context of this argument eludes me, as I never watch The View. But the specifics of why the two are fighting are irrelevant - with Rosie on-board the fight would've happened one way or another. Rosie joined the show with a plan to antagonize as many people as possible, and she has carried it off beautifully. Of course, her targets have been carefully selected - she chooses rich white men like Donald Trump to go after, and rich attractive white women like Ms. Hasselbeck, because in our present culture, people like that are fair game. And by pitting herself against these whitebread paragons, Rosie achieved the aim of making herself look like a crusader for the outsiders and the picked-upon. She says it right in the above clip - they will criticize me for being a big fat lesbian who picks on a poor little white girl. And this is exactly as she wants it, the transparent, self-hating cow.
Since the Wednesday incident, it has become apparent that Rosie no longer wants to be on The View, in spite of her triumph. On her insipid blog, Rosie blathered to her readers about "knowing when it's time to go." And today she has posted what looks like a farewell video, featuring clippings from The View over a song whose lyrics presumably sum-up Rosie's feelings (I didn't bother listening to the song, so I have no idea what those feelings might be). Rosie's imminent departure was also signalled yesterday when her chief writer, Janette Barber, was thrown out of ABC's studios for allegedly drawing moustaches on pictures of Elisabeth Hasselbeck that hang around the building. Such a mature response - exactly the sort of thing we might expect from a friend of Rosie, who herself often appears stuck in junior-high, communicating through her silly blog poems and tedious videos the mentality of someone who ceased developing emotionally around the same time her pubic hair first appeared.
Rosie's contract doesn't officially expire until June 20, and The View says they expect her back on Monday (she's been off the last couple of days, presumably to celebrate partner Kelli Carpenter's birthday), but all indications are that Rosie's stint on the program has come to an end. Unless of course Rosie decides to mount some triumphant reappearance next week. It wouldn't shock me to see her try and milk this for as much sympathy and lame poetic material as she can. Of course, it's possible that Rosie herself is just fed-up. And, really, what more can she hope to gain by perpetuating all this friction and unpleasantness? Attacking Elisabeth Hasselbeck will no longer gain her favor - it will just look like piling-on. She has wrung nearly all the juice she could out of her participation on The View - time for her to find some other field of endeavor, which may better satisfy her bottomless need for validation, and compulsion to raise her voice in obnoxious, petulant, childish fashion against any and all who deign to suggest she might not be the intellectual heavyweight she imagines herself to be.
Lindsay Lohan cares about her little sister Ali. That's why, when Lindsay was in rehab at Wonderland, she had Ali come and visit her - so Ali could learn first-hand the dire consequences of a life of drinking and drugging. Says Lindsay:
There are certain things I don't cross the line talking to her about, but she's pretty observant and she's witnessed a lot, especially between my parents. ... She came to see me in rehab - I wanted her to see what it was like, so she'd never want to be in a place like that.
Gosh Lindsay, you are such a caring older sibling. Practicing this aversion therapy on little innocent 13-year-old Ali. Bringing her to Wonderland so she would find out what it's like to be in rehab. I'm sure that seeing the inside of a posh rich-person treatment facility - a place that let you come and go almost as you pleased - will put her off of partying forever. And of course, since leaving rehab, you have provided such a sterling example for Ali by your personal conduct. You are walking the straight-and-narrow now Lindsay - no more cocaine binges or insane antics for you. All Ali need do is emulate your behavior exactly and she will lead a happy and fulfilling life, never requiring treatment at a rehab facility, or a liver transplant, or an iron-lung.
Lindsay Lohan - she's an inspiration to us all.
Britney took a break from working at the dance studio to have lunch on a boat. That gave her an excuse to put on this hat, which makes her look like a drag-queen sailor. By the way, here's a picture of her on the boat:
Who's teaching the kid to pole-dance?
Sad-eyed actress Mischa Barton and fake-boobed Playboy model Victoria Silvstedt got into it the other evening during an exclusive Cannes party thrown by jewelers De Grisogono, reports the Daily Mirror.
According to accounts Mischa and Victoria began the evening as pals, throwing back cocktails together, but things took a nasty turn when Mischa became annoyed that Victoria kept following her around. Mischa, ever the prudent young lady, tried simply ignoring Victoria - which of course angered the surgically-enhanced model. "Where the hell are you going now? Why do you keep walking away from me?" Victoria was heard to ask; to which Mischa replied, "We're not even going in the same direction. We're not going to the same place."
That seemed to be the end of it. However, at the close of the affair, Mischa found herself bumping up against former buddy Victoria again while trying to exit the club. Victoria at this point began grilling Mischa about the latter's behavior during the evening, and Mischa replied by telling Victoria to move. This caused the model to go completely ballistic. As Mischa departed, Victoria yelled after her, "There goes the bitch! There goes the bitch!"
By that account, it seems Victoria Silvstedt was the antagonist and Mischa somewhat the innocent victim. But I suspect it was really the other way around. Not that Mischa did anything to deliberately provoke Victoria - on the contrary, I believe it was never Mischa's intention to make Victoria angry at her. However, Mischa just has this thing about her - maybe it's the sick-puppy eyes - that seems like it must naturally infuriate everyone who comes into contact with her. I don't think we can blame Victoria Silvstedt for losing her temper - in fact, I think she showed admirable restraint in not ripping Mischa's head off right then and there. I know that if Mischa started talking to me, even about something innocuous like the weather, I would probably lose it entirely and not be able to stop myself from killing her. But, Victoria Silvstedt is clearly made of sterner stuff. Especially her boobs.
Some poor phone-monkey working for a collection agency dials a wrong number, and spends the next ten minutes being tortured by these dudes who've loaded a bunch of Judge Judy quotes into a computer. Listen and enjoy.
Posted by Melvin Ayatollahofrock'nrolla at 11:43 AM
David Hasselhoff poses on the American Idol finale red carpet with daughter Taylor. I think it's lovely the way Hasselhoff involves his daughter in his activities. When he's going to a big event, he takes her with, so she can share all the fun with him. And when he's totally wasted and chomping on junk-food, Taylor gets to film him. Then she gets to clean up his puke while he sits there swaying, his eyes fluttering open occasionally, and he uttering slurry admonitions like, "Don't forget to get under the mmmbzzmmmhuh?"
Paris Hilton has ditched all the spiritual inquiry in favor of something more her speed - licking on an ice cream cone. Enjoy it while you can Paris, cause you won't get ice cream in lock-up. Or booze or cocaine or men either. And Nicole Richie won't be there to stand next to you and make you appear relatively attractive. Nor will Perez be able to pop over and wash your feet for you, or regurgitate his already-masticated food into your mouth to save you the trouble of chewing.
Britney's all ready to appear on an episode of American Chopper. In fact, I think the guys are building her a custom bike even as we speak. It features a double-sidecar for Jayden James and Sean Preston to ride in. Frankly, I don't think we should be encouraging Britney to tear-ass down the highway on a hog with her two kids in a sidecar, but what the hell do I know?
Jessica Simpson may be pregnant. Of course, any given fertile woman may be pregnant at any given moment, you just don't know until you know. But in Jessica's case, at least according to her friends, there is valid reason for speculation. This is because, in the eyes of those who worry about such things, Jessica's already-ample breasts have recently grown to well-nigh gargantuan proportions. The sort of thing that typically happens to women who are knocked-up. Also, these friends say that when they ask Jessica about being pregnant, she smiles. And this is seen as some indication that she is indeed with child. Because, if she had put on as much weight as she has lately, and you asked her if she was pregnant but she wasn't, she would probably not smile. She would probably get mad and perhaps fill her diaper.
This patchwork of guessing and surmise about the state of Jessica's womb leads us naturally to the subject of John Mayer. Can we, in fact, attach some significance to the fact that the two broke up, then seemed to hastily reunite? Did Jessica reveal some little bit of information to John that made him not want to be with her anymore? And did he then have a change of heart brought on - perhaps? - by Joe Simpson appearing at his house early in the morning brandishing a shotgun? It would not surprise me to soon hear news of Jessica and John's impending nuptials. I can just picture the scene - the church all decked out in flowers, Jessica in her flowing white gown, John in his tuxedo, Papa Joe with his .30-06. And Ashlee in the corner trying to glue her nose back on.
What a happy family they'll all make. The pervert and his two freakish daughters, and John Mayer announcing he's going on a seventeen-year world tour.