We Came, We Saw, We Emmy'd

Dear Everyone, ***

A few quick thoughts on last night's (mostly) boring as shit Emmys:

• Sorry, Josh Groban: I guess this medley was sorta cool, but also it like really freaked me out for some reason. Anyone else?

• Heidi Klum: You need to hold onto your Project Runway job with all your might, cause you were by far the suckiest of all the hosts...followed by Tom Bergeron. (sidenote: Emmys, please don't ever pull that 5 host shit again. Massive FAIL).

• Yay for Damages! Srsly, people. I know that you don't watch this show. I know this because NO ONE watches this show and I have no fucking clue why. I downloaded Season 1 on itunes and spent the next 36 hours literally hanging on every last episode like it was crack cocaine. It rocked my fucking world. ATTN: Everyone whose eyeballs are currently reading this shit: WATCH THIS SHOW! You will love it. You will want to fuck it and will probably ask it to marry you. Promise. (sidenote: Boo FX for doing the worst advertising/pr campaign in the history of the whole entire world for these people).

• Yay for Tina Fey and 30 Rock and snarky, funny girls who wear glasses.

• Those bizarro TV set intros = WTF??

• Ricky Gervais was pure perfection and should have been hosting the whole fucking show.

• The no political discussion rule was annoying, though I guess I also would have been annoyed if every single presenter and award recipient was going on and on and on about the election. Ok, so fuck it...maybe it was a good idea.
  

• Fashion: LOVEd Jane Krakowski in her Versace Dress and Brooke Shields in her flouncy, pinky number, and Olivia Wilde ; HATEd this turquoise number on Mary Louise Parker (= v. bad color for her).

• Eva Longoria Parker is so 100% preggo and she keeps denying. S'like, look bitch. I'm sorry that you are constantly asked this question...and it should be something that you could keep private if you were no one...but you are a celeb and that's just that. So, just fucking admit it already!

• Lauren Conrad got to present an Emmy award!? As in LC? Also, she was on stage for about 12 mins!? W.T.F. for serious?? You know I love me some Hills, but that shit was ridick. I was waiting for the cast of the new 90210 to come out or maybe a few of the rich bitches from My Super Sweet 16. I refuse to believe that my standards are higher than The goddammed Emmys.
  

• Yay for the Pivert and his award for Best Supporting Actor, but that speech blew. Still love me some Entourage, tho.

• After finally finding a hairstyle that really, truly worked for an awards show, (at the offscreen event they do before the big one on TV), Kathy Griffith went and fucked it all up again with her Rapunzel hair extensions last night. They were grody to the max.

• I feel like 7/8 of this show are devoted to mini-series that I have never even fucking heard of. It's soooo borrrring.
  

• After that non-opening, that ending was truly bizarre. I had no idea that the show was even over, but I guess the horrible hosts had been going on too long at that point with all their totally unfunny banter. And so someone thought it would be hilair to just let Jeff Probst literally die on the stage in front of us. And it was...kinda.
  

I just don't understand how a show that is all about honoring amazing TV, always sucks chocolate salty balls? Like ALWAYS?

Whatevs,
m.e.

Sienna Miller Just Wants to Be Loved...'Is That So Wrong'???

Dear Sienna Miller, *

Oh, hai.

So based on these pics of you throwing a tantrum with the paparazzi that would put Veruca Salt to shame, I'm thinking you are maybe a little confused about how this whole celebrity whore thing works.

No worries, though!---That's what we're all here for!

Here's the scoop: When you fuck a rich, famous married guy and go cavorting on the beach in Italy naked with him and let him grab your tits in front of the entire free world while said wife is stuck at home with their FOUR CHILDREN, there's going to be some interest from the media.

And people may spray paint "slut" onto your house.

Or call you "Slutty-iena."

But the one thing you can FOR SURE count on, is that the paparazzi are gonna wanna take your pic way more than they ever did before. This I can tell you with 100% certainty.

So, like what's the fucking problem here?

I find it hard to believe that someone who was all about privacy would be cavorting naked with Balthazar Getty on a beach in the first place, so how come you're so shy all the sudden?

Ditch the dramz, Sienna. Everyone already hates your ass with the fire of a thousand burning hot suns, and now you're just making shit way worse.

Buy yourself a puppy.

Puppy's R cute. It might help (jus sayin).

kthxbye,
me

So Now It's My Fucking Fault That Lily Allen Doesn't Like To Wear A Bra?

Dear Lily Allen, **

So these pics with your tit hangin out were all over the internets the other day. In fact, in some crazy turn of events you had two nip slips that day, so there were approximately 765 shots of your boob from pretty much every angle that a camera is capable of photographing.

Thanks to the paparazzi (and I guess also a cultural shift toward going commando), I'm already intimately familiar with practically every female celeb's snatch--yours included. So, like seeing your titty was really no big whoop. And honestly, I wouldn't have even given this whole thing a second thought had you not seen fit to take the matter straight to your bloggidy blog blog and created a whole second wave of discussions, posting, and speculation:

"hello, i wore a loose fitting t shirt yesterday. I was very hot in London yesterday, and it's no secret I don't like wearing bras, besides i don't need to, measuring in at 32A it hardly seems necessary. My boob fell out twice and people on the blogs are saying it was a publicity stunt. Can I just say, i have been keeping myself very much to myself recently, i've been gardening, decorating my new flat and looking after my greiving grandfather...It's because i'm on my own and people are pointing at me like an animal in the zoo , talking about me as if i'm not there, meanwhile 10 -20 guys are all making money catching every second of it. Anyway my point is, i would never use my body in that way , I'm just not that kind of girl."

Right.

Ok, so like its super duper nice that you've been "keeping to yourself" and gardening-n-shit. And I'm not sure who your gramps is grieving, but that sucks--I'm sorry for his loss. And my heart goes out to you over the fact that you have to deal with a whack pack of camera wielding douches who follow you around...really it does...but you make millions of dollars to compensate you for this inconvenience.

But like also, here's a newsflash: its still all your own fucking fault that your tit was splayed all over my macbook. So, can you lose the 'tude??

I'm willing to concede that *maybe* this wasn't a publicity stunt, but still this shit is pretty freakin ridick.

It's the middle of summer, so its pretty much boiling fucking hot everywhere. True, I am not famous enough to followed around by the paparazzi, so if I did have a nip slip you'd never know it. But also, my tit(s) NEVER pop out of my shirt. Like n-e-v-e-r. Not once.

I mean, I suppose this does take a small amount of effort on my part (i.e. I do wear bras regulary), however, I've never felt overwhelmed with my "keep my tits in my shirt" daily responsibilities. It's never interfered with my social life or my job hunting. My tits don't pop out at the airport, the supermarket, or the gym (true, I never go to the gym, but I'm jus sayin...). None of my neighbors have seen my tits, none of my friends have seen my tits, and none of my co-workers have seen my tits.

So I guess my point is this, Lilly: these are just the small steps I take, as a non-famous, insignificant, nobody, to make sure that no one sees my business except for my husband and my dog. You can guaran-fucking-TEE that if I did have a whack pack of camera wielding dudes following me around day and night, I'd be ramping up my bra wearin/non-loose shirt wearin tactics tenfold.

Believe it or not, its not my goddammed fault that your titty is all over TMZ...jus cuz you are only a 32A and don't like bras and, oh right, it was hot out.

Boo fucking hoo.

Oh yeah, and also, this wasn't the first time.

tit for tat,
me

Thanks For Reminding My Husband What NOT To Do, Balthazar Getty (Lesson #2: The Aftermath)

image: popsugar

Dear My Husband, ***

Ok so like since our first lesson about affairs went so well (your hands + another girl's tits + flash photography = n'uh uh), I thought we could just pick things up where we left off and continue to use Balthazar Getty as a shining example of the man I hope you never, ever, ever become (minus the piles of cash, of course).

Right.

So, last we checked, Balthazar had his hands all up in Sienna Miller's frolicking tits. While canoodling with this bitch on the Amalfi Coast (see pic above), his wife Rosetta was stuck at home with their four kids wondering what the fuck happened to her marriage as she watched this shit unfold on the internets and Us Weekly.

Again, we've covered this at length, but it bears repeating: If shit ever gets so bad with us that you've got "have an affair!" flashing on a neon signed billboard on the highway to your brain, lemme know, K?.

Like immediately.

Because like that shit is demoralizing...and embarrassing...and would seriously piss my ass off. And most importantly, you would t-o-t-a-l-l-y regret it...and then look like this when I left your ass stranded at the airport with no ride just like Rosetta did (yes...I'm serious).


Ok, so back to lesson #2: you've had the affair (DON'T tho...just talking hypothetically here), and now you've embarrassed yourself, me, our family and everyone on the planet with eyes. Then you wake up from this clusterfuck of a shituation, and you want me back...and want me back badly.

(from TMZ)
"Our sources say — and they are impeccable — Balthazar has resorted to e-groveling with his e-stranged wife, Rosetta. He has been sending her e-mails in the last week saying, “I love you.”

Uhm...ok. E-groveling is a start, I suppose...but again, you need to make a note NOT to follow Balthazar Getty's lead here.

Ur shit is gonna need to be ramped way the fuck up if you are ever in the position of needing to get my attention after public titty cavorting. This would be the time for creativity, unbridled enthusiasm and whacky "I'll do anything" to get you back stunts. (i.e. Kobe's got the right idea with this one).

E-groveling will barely register on my motherfucking radar.

Ok, so in summary: scandalicious, well documented affair + oceans of resulting regret = Cirque de Soleil, Superbowl Halftime show-type tactics req'd to get my ass back.

In the meantime, just say "no."

xo,
me

Thanks For Reminding My Husband What NOT To Do, Balthazar Getty (Lesson #1: Affairs)

image: popsugar

Dear My Husband, ***

Hi.

So, like of course I hope that you love me forever (duh).

But also I hope that when you look at hott girls on the street, you're semi-quickly (I mean, after you've enjoyed yourself for 10 seconds or so) snapped out of ur fantasy with the recollection that, "oh riiight!," you're happily married. It would even be pretty cool if when you're getting a lap dance (only at bachelor parties in AC, right?) even if its just for a second, you imagine my head on that little ho ho's bod. Or does that just ruin everything?

Anyway.

I'm guessin that because you rock and because I rock and because we both are such a rockin' couple, we'll never have to deal with the nastiness or unpleasantness of an actual real life affair. Because like before you'd ever want to have an affair, you'd tell me you want to have an affair (right?), and then we'd talk about it and hopefully you wouldn't have one.

Here's the thing though, if u DO ever find that for some crazy reason you are having an affair (DON'T HAVE ONE THOUGH, K? FOR REALZY), can you at least please have the motherfuckin' decency to not pull a Balthazar Getty on my ass? (but like, again, do NOT have an affair).

Because, I'm pretty freakin positive that your simple, garden variety everyday average affair would be enough to wreck me...but throw in a pic with your hands on some other hot, way skinnier than I am, girl's tits, and I'm headed straight for the motherfuckin snake pit.

Here's a pretty good rule of thumb to stick with I think: Your hands + another girl's tits + flash photography = n'uh uh.

Uhm...yeah. So that's pretty much it. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page with that one.

Also, can you pick up the dry cleaning??

Thx.

love to love you,
me

Helen Mirren: DIE, YOU HOTT FUCKING BITCH

Dear My Fat Ass,*

Don't even think of pretendin like you didn't see this pic of Helen Mirren in a bikini.

You saw it. You know u did; and I know u did; and we all know u did...and now its time to deal. So rather than dance around this shit like Muhammad Ali, let's just lay it on the line and step to it.

Here are the facts:
*Helen Mirren is 62
*You are considerably younger than 62
* Helen Mirren looks way bettter in a bikini than you do

Uhm....yeah. So there's that.

Le sigh.

Not feeling so "pan-tastic" NOW, are we?

Suicide is not the answer,
m.e.

Trailer Parks, Metrosexuals & Pretty Boys: Mr. Ex Star Jones Is 'Separating The Gossip From The Facts'

Dear Mr. Ex-Star Jones, *

Holy. Freakin. Brilliantness.

I have just partaken in a thorough viewing of all three juicy, nugget-filled videos on the newly launched AlReynoldsChannel, and I have the following immediate reactions to share with you:

*I LOVE the AlReynoldsChannel...perhaps more than I have loved any other self-created, fake TV channel that I have ever come into contact with (as such, I have subscribed to all future AlReynoldsChannel posts).

*I am prepared to forego other, regularly scheduled network and/or cable broadcast programming in order to fully commit to immersing myself in future AlReynolds programming.

*I am now under the impression that everyone--particularly other "misunderstood" D list celebs--should immediately get thee to a broadcast studio, hire a fake interviewer, and create their own set of fake interview videos for their own fake youtube channel. WE WILL WATCH IT...I promise you.

*And Your Heart Goes 'Whoo,'™ should obvs be the name of your next Book/DVD/TV show/Puclicity Tour, et al.

*Your continued use of "I didn't share this with you," in the fake videos, is an extremely effective tool in creating the illusion that: you're about to say something interesting (you're not); "we" have an intimacy that would allow for sharing secrets (we do!); and that we care what is about to come out of your mouth next (we don't...and yet we do). Complicated shit, right??

(and most importantly)
*YOU ARE NOT GAY NOW, NOR HAVE YOU EVER BEEN G-A-Y! - Gotta be straight with you Al, this was your one major misstep. I guess you're not up on the news lately, what with all of the preparation you have likely been pouring into your fake interviews for your fake TV channel-n-all, but its actually way cooler now to be gay than straight. "If anyone knew the damage it has caused me, they would understand why I'm very agressive about this." Uhm...what sort of damage, Al? Goin' gay is pretty much your one and only trump card in this whole crazy, effed up Star Jones mindfuck of a shituation you've gotten yourself into. Unless you want to be known as SJ's lameass douche of an ex-husband 4-eva, I would highly recommend that you come out of the closet immediately, date Lance Bass and let us all get on with our own ridiculousness.

Anyway Al, Bravo!

It was rad to start off my morn with all that mad truth that you dropped right on my fucking face. Please, please, for the love of God please, add more videos to the AlReynoldsChannel soon, k? In the meantime, I'l call Time Warner to cancel our cable.

Al B Sure,
me

Photoshop Awards--A Worthy Business Model? Call Me, Michael K.

Dear Michael K from Dlisted,***

Dude, you're seriously onto something...like for really reals.

I love the shit out of almost everything on your site, so virtual fist bumps from one foul-mouthed blogger bitch to another. But true confessions: nothing brings me quite as much joy as your semi-regular Photoshop Awards posts.

For those that might be unfamiliar, Photoshop Awards pays homage to the latest and greatest photoshop feats of fabulosity in the world of celebu-tainment. Generally, we're talking mag covers here, but album covers, publicity photos and the like are also in the mixx.

My affection for the Photoshop Awards, I think, stems mostly from the fact that despite my overtly jaded, bitter and mostly unforgiving outlook toward celebs, I'm genuinely surprised when you point out that Mariah doesn't actually look like this in real life. I'm a smart girl, really I am--but somehow I'm always left thinking, wow...photoshop?? Really?

I mean, like take Jennifer Hudson here. Who knew you cold go from pretty (but pleasantly plump) to this with a few choice clicks:

Deep down, I think most girls are thinking: "I'd photoshop my ass up all day, all night and twice on Sunday in order to look as good as these bitches." Duh. I mean, obvs, we all want to always look our best and, so that got my wheels spinning: maybe....just maybe photoshop is the answer to all of our problems?

So, here's what I'm thinkin: Photoshop Phreaks 4 U dot com. It's catchy, right?

We can hire a team of Indian personal photoshop assistants who will be standing by 24 hours a day to take any normal photo from flab to fab in 2 to 4 hours or less. We can charge--I don't know--$19.95 a photo?

I mean, we'd be offering the world-at-large a public service by basically ensuring that everyone on the planet looks way better than they actually look in real life. If we do this right, we could single-handedly wipe out ugly and/or fat once and for all!

As an experiment, I took the following original photo of my next door neighbor Lisa:

Then I sent it off to PhotoshopPhreaks4u.com and clickity-click-click, here's how it looks now:

As you can see, the results are nothing short of spectacular!

Like a born again Christian Evangelist, I have seen the divine magic of photoshop firsthand. And I for one don't ever wanna go back.

I have just sent off all of my wedding photos, yearbooks, baby pictures and photo ID's to immediately be photoshop-ified up. I asked for the platinum "Mariah Carey" bikini package (this is where all photos are reworked to include you in a bikini, no matter what the circumstance or setting), so I hope to enter a few in your next batch of Photoshop Award contenders.

Anyway, Michael, give it a long hard think. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure this idea = gold.

Call me if you wanna make some millies.

Smiling for the camera,
me

Dear Famous Asshole Goes Head To Head With Perez Hilton's New Subscription Service 'Gossip On The Go'

Dear Everyone, ***

I'm guessing you've probably all heard about Perez Hilton's new subscription phone service by now, but just in case, let me fill you in: basically you send that fat, pink-haired, annoying punk $5 a month, and then he calls you every once in awhile with an annoying, screech-filled recorded gossip news flash.

In case you're wondering why the fuck you'd pay that douche for something he gives you for free on his own damn website every day, you're not alone.

However, as committed as we are to remaining on the front lines of the latest technology trends, Dear Famous Asshole decided to launch a competitive service to Hilton's "Gossip on the Go" program which we are fondly calling "Eh, Whatever, Blah, Blah, Blah."

Always looking towards the needs of you, our loyal readers, our service is far more in depth and comprehensive than Hilton's. In fact, we will call your asses up to 8 times a day (Perez only calls you 8 times a month, losers). We won't be using any special sound effects, are not at all down with enthusiasm or fake screechy queen-isms, and can't promise that we'll actually give a shit about any of the stuff that we're calling you about. But at least you'll know what's up when someone at your staff meeting says "Hey, does anyone know what Jamie Lynn Spears named her stupid baby??"

Best of all, this shit is totally 100 puhr-cent FREE.

You can even take a taste test by clicking the blue arrow on our handy mp3 player below:

boomp3.com

Buy one, get one free,
Me

[UPDATE: We gave Eh, Whatever, Blah, Blah, Blah a good old college try and made it through one whole day of riveting gangsta gossip messaging. Then we started getting barraged by emails from all of our homies on Facebook who were pissed off that we were neglecting our ongoing Scrabulous games...and so we decided to suspend the service. No need for a money back guarantee, though, since you never paid us shit to begin with you cheap ass motherfuckers.]

According To The University of Buffalo, I'm A Dirty Little Whore (On The Internets, That Is...)

Dear Everyone, ***

Some folks at the University of Buffalo have been lookin' into my behavior lately; i.e the trashy reality TV watchin', gossip blog readin', Us Weekly sniffing, Gawker Stalker sorta crap, and the overriding conclusion is this: I'm a skank ass ho.

"A new study of television viewing and communication patterns among young adults by University at Buffalo researchers has found a relationship between reality television viewing and "promiscuous friending."

Le sigh.

First off, University of Buffalo--if that's even your real name-- like duh.

You don't exactly need a phD to connect the dots on this motherfucker: "Individuals who heavily watch reality shows are inclined to act in a more "promiscuous" way on social networking Web sites like Facebook or MySpace. They make their private lives available to the public due to the behaviors that they witness.."

The crack team of cultural scientists at UB are right on the money with that shit, because this has proven to be t-o-t-a-l-l-y true in my own personal life. I mean, like right now, for instance, I'm exchanging naked video podcasts with some dude I met in the facebook group "I am way too emotionally invested in SYTYCD" and, though we're just in the planning stages, we're *thinkin* of putting them up on itunes. Last night I got cyber dominated by some guy who left a comment on my post about Miley Cyrus's dance battle (since deleted, you pervs) and also, inspired by Lindsay's recent lez love, I'm in an online three way with an up-and-coming indie rock chick on myspace (who got like a mini shout out from perez, y'all!) and this Asian dude from the Television Without Pity boards who claims to have been featured in the b/g of some Calvin Klein billboard that was up in the "Times Square" of Tokyo (though no links to share, so whatevs). And, like honestly, this is just the shit I'm comfortable talking about here, so there's a LOT more where that came from.

The really weird thing is, before I started watch Living Lohan and SYTYCD and Top Chef and shit, I never did ANY of this sort of stuff. But now, no matter how hard I try, I just can't stop...and now I know why!

This nugget is also like so "hells yeah!" for me: "The more they watch, the more time they are likely to spend on Facebook gaining a larger network of friends, a good portion of whom they've never met and sharing more pictures of themselves."

Here's my technique (and feel free to borrow): basically, I like to do random searches on Facebook for common names like John, Mike, Jenny or Tinsley Mortimer; then I just start blasting out the friends requests doubletime, and laugh my ass off as the approvals start rollin in. Guess how many homies I currently have on my fb friends list people?...11,672 as of this second! But I can't front like that's a final number b/c approvals are rollin in at all hours of the day and night, people...all hours.

Best of all, I have no freakin' clue who 99% of those effers are. If you ARE lucky enough to be on my list though, you can be guar-on-teed that you'll get hit up with a weekly deluge of sexy pics of me doin' all sorts of sexy stuff lookin' all sexy like in my sexy underwears (see my "sexy," "sexy4u," "i'm.hot.n.ur.not" and "bask in the glow of my eternal hotness" albums on Facebook for proof).

Also they said this: "We're All Stars Now: Reality Television, Web 2.0 and Mediated Identities," indicates an erosion of the distinction between the everyday world and the celebrity world, in which common people claim intimacy with the completely mediated identities of such celebrities as Britney Spears or Brad Pitt. " Uhm...Like how??!! Like by starting a blog where you decide to write letters to these people, or something!? That's dumb.

Anyway, my promiscuous, hot-to-trot homies, if you would care to continue down this path of celeb-u-tastic, soul sucking self-mutilation with me, meet me here tomorrow morn for a post about Puff Daddy getting his ball sac waxed.

you know you love,
me
xoxo

Gettin' Meaty With Jessica Simpson: This Bitch Knows Exactly Where The Beef Is

Dear Jessica, **

I know we've had our differences in the past, but this just fuckin' rules.

First of all, there ain't nothing that hits the spot for me like a conrnbeef, vienna sausage, extra rare roast beef with bacon sandy, so punch it in for givin' props to meat lovers like us everywhere. Oprah may be on her 21 day vegan-a-thon, but I say FUCK THAT SHIT right before I pop another chopped liver prosciutto pancake puff and wash it down with a raw egg bac-o-bits shooter. Meat RULZ.

After realizing that your meet lovers tee was not just a simple attempt at double entendre sluttiness, or a mere ode to beefy deliciousness, but also a big fat "bite me" to your BF Tony Romo's ex Carrie Underwood, it made me want to wrap you in fried breading and eat you up like a big ole pig-in-a-blanket. Carrie may be PETA's sexiest vegetarian alive two years running, but you're bringin' sexy back with the beef. And I, for one am roasting a whole effin pig right now in celebration.

If meat is murder, than murder is tasty,
me

BREAKING: Brangelina Baby Bumpitty Bump Bump Photos On Dear Famous Asshole?! For Realz???

Dear Brange, **

As the world continues to ignore real life honest to gawd news items, such as the fact that we finally have a freakin Democratic presidential candidate (oh yeah, and he's Black); or that there was some major ass flooding this weekend all across the U.S. of A. that, like, killed some people; or that Steve Jobs is announcing Apple's new iphone today, ensuring all of the bitch ass chumps who have the first one feel lame, stupid, jealous and served, its time to pwn up to the fact that you two are pretty much the chief cause of all of this woo hoo.

The world has been on twinsies watch for several weeks now, and until you "deliver the goods," so to speak, we (as in the collective 'we') have no real hope of moving past this on to bigger, better and, likely, even more soul sucking sorts of things.

Word on the street is that you effers are likely going to get offers of up to $22 millies for the exclusive photos of your new little hot mamas, and I def do get that that is a lot of scratch. BUT, I also know that you two don't need a god damned penny of it and are probably busy right now stuffing your new double double's mattresses with the leftover cash from your $60 million ATM run to lease that tres 'Jolie' French castle.

So here's the dealio: I don't mean to toot my own horn here, but I think that I've come up with the single most brilliant strategy for dealing with this whole baby mama drama frenzy that would virtually ensure, once and for all, that you could stick it to the paps and the media like you've never stuck it to them before. Trust me when I say that this would go down in history as the biggest, baddest check mate move in celebrity canon (E!'s Most Shocking Celebrity Moments, pull out your little notepads right fucking now). Though your place in history is, granted, already pretty firmly entrenched, this would create an unsinkable, rock solid foundation that even those asshats over at Gray's Anatomy couldn't chip through.

Give exclusive rights to your new, sexy, double trouble baby photos to a completely unknown, poorly trafficked, non-entity blog like Dear Famous Asshole!

Hollah!!?? Is this brilliant, or is this brilliant?! Do you love it!?

I mean, come on. You know for a stone cold Steve Austin fact that this would s-e-r-i-o-u-s-l-y piss off every mother effer who ever screwed you guys over with a nasty photo, a full-o-lies story or a stalkerazzi moment from the time the two of you first swapped spit. It would be a benchmark moment in the history of media. You would be heroes to everyone: other bitter, thankless celebs who complain how hard it is to make bazillions and smile for the camera, the public at large, who will be spared both the expense and the embarrassment of buying an OK Magazine, and of course, all of the other unknown bloggers with their own poorly trafficked sites, and all of the insignificant fucks who ocassionally, but not often, follow them. You'd be virtually guaranteed another 2 to 3 lines in your Brangelina/Power Couple Wikipedia entry for this stunt, and best of all, you'd be doing a good deed for me too!

I get that we're not talking rebuilding homes for katrina victims or adopting children from third world countries sort of good deeds, but what about helping me to be the architect of MY own future, BRAD?? What about that?? Good deeds, like hookers, come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. and I'm just askin' for a little reverse affirmative action, just this one little ole time.

I understand that you'll probably need a day or so in order to submit this idea to the Brangelina thinktank advisory board, so please have at it. Then give me call if and only if you feel like making the history books with me.

Two babies are always better than one!

Honest to blog,
me

Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Brangelina, And Espesh Ashley Simpson, Tune The Eff In: An Open Letter To All Celebrities

Dear all y'all, *

This latest Ashlee Simpson bullshit is a prime example of exactly why we hate most of you mother effers these days.

This bitch has been barefoot and pregnant for months now, and everybody and their brother knew it. Yet, deny, deny, deny. That guyliner wearing musician she's married to...what's his fucking name? Pete Wentz? A couple of weeks ago, he was all: "There is a witch hunt for people to be pregnant whenever they get engaged in Hollywood." Right. How bout: no witch hunt dude...just your skinny ass wife mysteriously gettin fat.

Yeah, the paps are crazy and chase you and shit for pics, but that's why you get paid millions and millions and millions of dollars. This way when you crash your car after an evening of speed racer with Adnan Ghalib, you can easily hit up the ATM, take out 75k and be rollin' with your new S Class for your Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf run the following morn. And WTF is up with that need to hide from the photogs anyway?? Take ten minutes, pose for a freakin' photo and be on your way to yog-a-lates class, Homes.

And don't E-V-E-N front like you're not readin' all those fuckin tabs every week, just like the rest of us wannabees. I gah-ron-tee your asses that this is what 99% of your morning routines look like, down to a motherfuckin tee:

1. Wake up
2. Jack off
3. Watch Tivo'd eps of TMZ in bed
4. Down 2 wheatgrass shooters that your personal asst just picked up from the Newsroom Cafe on Robertson
5. Take a shit while reading Us Weekly, Star and OK! Magazine
   
6. Head over to your Black Macbook
7. Google yourself
8. Read Page Six
9. Read Perez Hilton
10. Read Defamer
    
11. Read Dlisted
12. Read Just Jared
13. Read Pink is the New Blog
    
14. Read Dear Famous Asshole (heh...ok, probs not but everyone deserves a dream, you asshat).

And by the way, which is it?? Do you want your privacy or not? Because if so, you best get that memo to Kim Kardashian and Britney Spears and your PR peeps, and your studio and everyone else who leaks shit about where you be every freakin minute of the day. See that's how more pictures with your ass in em get sold to more magazines. But, you'd never do that, would you, because you like it when you like it...and that's most of the god damned time.

Where there's smoke there's usually fire. I'm not sure who came up with that shit, but its tru.

Word on the street was that Ashelee was with child. Her stomach was poochy. She got engaged and married within a month. We alll did the mother fuckin math. And now she and King Kohl make their announcement just like it ain't no thang.

Listen up celebs, and listen hard. Your deal with the devil has been made...your privacy is gone. That shit is dead and buried. If you're a bazillionaire like Oprah or Brange or any number of you other fools, than you made a pretty good fuckin' deal. So pleez, shut your face, smile for the camera, admit shit when its true, and just freakin' deal with it. You're pwned now.

Sheesh.

me

Dennis Farina is Not So Hot on Keeping Law & Order After All

Dear Dennis, *?

What with all of the constantly changing rules and security measures, its super duper hard to keep up with what we can and can't bring onto planes these days. I get confused myself quite a bit, so I thought I would share with you a recent checklist I put together that I use religiously every time I'm packing for a trip.

Do NOT bring any of the following items onto the plane:

• Bottled water (unless purchased after security checkpoint)
• Any liquids over 3 ounces
  
• Tweezers
• Knitting needles
• Tuna fish sandwiches
  
• A Loaded freakin gun

Feel free to print this out and use it as much as you need to (I had mine laminated!).

Bon Voyage,
m-e

Perez Hilton + his own fashion line = You Have GOTTT To Be Kidding Me

Dear Perez, **

Uhm....yeah. Your own fashion line, huh?

I'm pretty sure I would rather commit to an all Heidiwood, all the time wardrobe than ever, ever, like EVER have to wear a Mario Lavandeira designed baby tee. It looks like My Little Pony threw up all over those tween jeans and horrible ho-odies.

Also, when you're a fashion designer...and you look totally ridiculous at your own clothing line launch--that's kinda not so good.

That's all.

Think pink (oops, looks like you already R!),
m.

Stop Copying Miley Cyrus, Jonas Brothers

Dear Jonas Brothers, (pls see Miley Cyrus rating),

I know almost absolutely nothing about you aside from the fact that you are teenagers...and brothers. I don't think I've ever heard one of your songs (on purpose, at least) and have zero clue what any of your first names are. And yet none of that stops me from being deeply annoyed by all three of you chumps.

Now it seems that we have a Jonas Brothers 3D concert film to contend with next year?....fantastic. I'm totally looking forward to having my local movie theater clogged up like a toilet with giggling gaggles of twittering teenage girls dreaming of having their v cards swiped by Jonas Brother 1, 2 or (if need be) 3.

Can you just get off the internet already?

Hell to the No,
m.

Miley Cyrus, I Think I Actually Like You Now

Dear Miley, (** ?? I'm stumped on this one),

Wow, slutty pix AND this dancin' machine youtube video? Maybe you're not so lame after all.

Why oh why doesn't anyone ever challenge meeee to a dance off!? So not fair.

Hos before bros,
me

Tom Cruise and Oprah: A Match Made In Xenu

Dear Tom, *

Ewww.

After watching your interview with the big O, I feel all icky inside. Kinda like I need a shower.

Telluride is very pretty--I'll give you that. But you were just weird and creepy and had a very bad haircut goin' on.

It was super interesting hearing you talk about that opening scene in Risky Business--and how it literally changed the course of your life. Especially when Op moved right on to ask you about the "couch incident"--which also sorta changed the course of your life. Like, for the way worse.

I actually felt bad for Oprah, because the awkwardness between you two was palpable. And dude. You were a little over-the-top with the you "WERE EGGING ME ON" tirade regarding your couch gymnastics routine. Come on...you needed no egging. You know it and I know it, so put your freakin' omlette pan away.

And can one of the higher-ups from your whacko religious militia please explain to me why the EFF I have a better chance of getting a quick explanation regarding the concepts behind quantum physics or the easiest way to to perform open heart surgery than I do to this very simple question: WHAT IS SCIENTOLOGY?! Haven't you people ever heard of an "elevator pitch?" Here's some totally free PR advice Tommy (I pray you are not still getting any from your sister): If you don't want people making up stories and constantly criticizing you, stop being Mr. Mysteriouso about the whole thing.

Also, we all read right through the BS that you and Nicole were BFF and your whole family was like one big Brady Bunch lovefest. I'm guessing its more like Celebrity Deathmatch than it is the Brady's.

Anyhoo, just wanted to send you a quick note to say that I still hate your guts! And that I'm looking forward to Part II of your freakshow interview.

Theta Hater,
ME

Get the Eff Out of My COCKtail, Marilyn Manson

Dear Marilyn, **

You are seriously a genius.

I'm not being sarcastic or snarky either...I mean it. You're like a living, breathing marketing experiment and the world is your willing puppet. Your name is Brian and you grew up suburban fucking Ohio. Mix one part pancake make-up and black eyeliner with two parts naming yourself after a serial killer and, voila...you're a superstar. Throw in some anti-christ BS for good measure, talk about blood a lot in your "songs" and stop eating = e-d-g-y. And now you're making fucking Absinthe?! Absinthe made in Switzerland in some dark, dank castle I presume?

Totally.

Brilliant.

Let's list your qualifications for Absinthe maker: you are weird, dark, scary and wear black smudgy make-up. I'm sure you booze it up constantly, so I will spot you that. Based on this formula, I'm volunteering myself to endorse and/or develop my own line of the following products: Spanx (chubby thighs, check!); Goody hairbands (constant ponytail, check!); the SAT's (I'm smart, uh huh!); Pinkberry flavor (ob-sessed!).

Anyway, let it be known, Bri-guy, that Mansinthe is both completely ridiculous and Shear Genius.

L'Chaim,
m.

Two Babies Are Totally Better Than One, Jennifer Lopez

Dear Jenny From the Block, **

Can I be the first to suggest "Double Trouble" as the title of your new reality show on TLC?

Way to come back from the cringe-worthy embarassment of naming your children totally boring and uninspired names.

Bessos,
me