Conversations about Famous People: 02/01/2005

Monday, February 28

Implants, 2005

Traci likes to touch hers. Lisa likes to show hers off. And Pam doesn't bother to cover hers up. Let's take a moment and study the implants of Oscars 2005. Underwire bra, anyone?

"Whose boobs are bigger?"

"Mine!"

"No, mine!"

"No Paris, mine are! Don't you wish you had your sidekick so we could take naked pictures of each other? Or if Tinkerbell was here, he could take photos for us!"

"Like, totally. Darn that Fred Durst leaking all the information out of my cell phone! He's such a pig! And not even good in bed. Back to me. Look at my chest! Look at my dress, I'm hot! Nicky, aren't I totally hot? You're hot. Arent we like, so freakin' hot? Hotter than that Nicole Richie! Hotter than Tara Weed. Hotter than Britney Federspears who also slept with Fred Durst! Ewww. "

Dear Diary -

Just got home from Oscar party. I looked so hot. Nicky said I was better looking than anyone else there. Of course. Like, duh! Spent the night in the bathroom with some guy. Then another guy. Didnt get names. Wish I had my sidekick. Fred Durst keeps paging me. Nick Carter called my pink sequined cell phone and Luke W. left ten messages- booty call? Looked at self in mirror and thought about new extensions. Called Ashlee S. to get more b. Saw Jess in bathroom with powder on nose. Told her she looked good (liar!). Saw Nick with Bai Ling- hiding under her dress. Gave phone number to Jamie Foxx.

Made out w/ Selma B. Touched Scarlett J.s boobs. Shared drink w/ Jared Leto and kissed Dennis Hopper (old! yuck!). Put hand down Orlando B. pants. Danced with Ethan Hawke (bad breath! ew!). Made fun of Mischa Bartons dress (so ugly!)

Looked in mirror. Applied lip gloss at 10, 11:14 and 2:34. Gave blotting papers to Renee Z. Drank champagne- poor quality. Ate half salmon puff. Vomited in toilet and ate caviar on toast. Drank more. Passed out on John Stamos' lap. Wish I had sidekick. Woke up and looked in mirror. Still hot.

Sno cones and shaved ice here!

While everyone else partied the night away, Bai Ling made good use of her yellow striped awning empire waist gown from which she sold frozen treats just off the red carpet. She created her own ice cream stand, selling chipwiches and popsicles to the hungry and thirty A listers.
(Evian bottles went for $6 a bottle, sold out of her Kooba bag, not pictured)

When you wear a voluminous dress in banana yellow stripes, it really encourages hunger pangs and a hankering for a sweet treat (unless you have doused yourself with Jessica Simpsons cake mix body lotion, in which case you can just lick your arms). That Bai Ling is so crafty! I just wish she had stocked more of the ice cream sandwiches. Clive Owen confided that he bought four icees and ate them all before he reached the entrance into the theater.

Renee can't breathe, her corset is too tight!

Dammit, that Selma Hayek kept stepping on Renee's gown all night, or so she thought. Really, it was Kate Winslet.

I wanted to know how Renee walked in that super tight dress. When I called her cell phone to ask, she told me she kept her thighs pressed tightly together all night creating a friction that made her sweat in her Kodak theater chair. When she sat down, she needed to unzip the back in order to breathe. She admitted to being nervous Adam Duritz was trying to unzip it further. Renee whispered that she was very uncomfortable and she should have gone with a loose fitting vintage Chanel.

We all must suffer for beauty. Thanks for being our champion, Renee! Now about that hair and the sour puckered lips...

I want my bed linens back, Gisele!

Gisele, do you happen to have a little bunchen in your oven? Or did Jennifer Aniston loan you her dress from last years awards show? I know how painful it can be to have it hanging in your closet with, well, you know. Seriously Gisele, That white empire waist gown looks a little familiar.

I wasn't aware of the toga party after the Oscars? But then again, Marty always likes throwing a themed party. You should have seen the Hawaiian night at the Mondrian last year. I'm looking forward to seeing Leo wearing a crown of grape leaves on his head and a white sheet twisted into a gown. You won't have to change, looks like you're already in costume.

Swanky!

Hilary Swank- that navy blue dress made from a thin layer of rubber shows off the bulging water balloons you have! Consider yourself lucky that Annette Benning didn't happen to have safety pin, just waiting for you to brush up against her in the ladies room. When you turned around- whoa! Please tell me how you toned your ass crack? We all want to know.

Reporting Live from the Feeding Trough

I couldn't wait to sit down with my glass of Cristal and watch the Oscar preshow. I've always enjoyed watching the celebs arrive on this momentous night. As I cozied up to my oversize chenille pillows and flipped on the television, I was confused- was this a sign of the Apocolypse?

A strange animal with bulging cow eyes trampled awkwardly on the red carpet. And then, only after I gulped another glassful of champagne and took a handful of my Valium, was I able to calm down enough to realize that it was Star Jones "reporting" live from Hollywood. She was thrusting her crystal studded mike into the faces of the people trying to make their way into the theater, trying to come up with witty banter and falling flatter than her husbands limp penis. I did not appreciate her gigantic wig, sprayed into submission, the "I'm a queen" tiara or the huge pearl-gold-silver earrings and necklace that dripped into the canyon of her cleavage. And please tell me why she kept showing off her hooves? (see photo) We do not want to see your ankle or your toenails.

The back view of her dress afforded us an unobstructed peek at her back fat, hanging over the fabric of her dress. And why does she drag her "husband" around with her like an accessory? Is she worried he's going to hunt down Alan Cummings and take off, leaving her in the dust of his quick exit? Because, you know, that could happen.

I truly believe there is someone better suited to host the preshow (me). A peek into her hotel after the red carpet duty is over reveals Star taking off her wig, tossing it on a chair and kicking off her shoes, thrusting her swollen feet into Al's lap where she commands him to rub them. Yelling into the phone, she orders room service and barks like a rabid dog when it's not brought up within ten minutes. She makes Al dial her cell phone so she can bitch at Barb Walters about flying commercial versus the ABC jet reserved for Meredith Viera. Then her head spins around and a black cloud envelopes her, leaving poor Al quaking and trembling then eventually seeking comfort in the arms of Elton John.

Sunday, February 27

Kate Bosworth: I'm so hungry

She goes to bed hungry every night, stomach rumbling for a nice big peanut butter sandwich. Kate Bosworth is veering into Mary Kateland. Look at her skinny arms and bony back. Scary!

Maybe she would like a sandwich with extra mayo and cheese, loaded with ham and bacon, on an all white roll and a large protein shake to wash it down with. I get frightened when I see actresses whittle themselves down to skeletal proportions. Kate seriously needs about fifteen pounds on her thin frame. There is nothing pretty about viewing another womans bony framework. I'm all about soft skin and curves and being strong and fit. Not a brittle bag of bones like an osteoporosis- ridden ninety year old.

Kate, you are totally cute even though you acted as Orlando Bloom's beard. I loved you in Blue Crush. But for the love of all that is good in Hollywood, please get yourself over to the all you can eat pasta bar at Olive Garden and take a doggie bag of breadsticks home. We love you. Now go eat!

She has "the flu" - she's pregnant!

Just wanted to pop in for a minute and let you know I just received confirmation that yes, Jen and Marc are expecting a bambino! I found this out while getting my toenails buffed and oiled and painted with a rare paint culled from the blooming flowers of Brazil.

My assistant was lovingly applying diamond chips to my nails when I heard the news. I almost choked on my caviar! I wonder how Ben is taking the news? He seems to be spending most of his time grocery shopping with Jen Garner. I better hightail it over to his home and comfort him in my loving arms.

I just can't wait until Britney announces she is with child. A little Cletus fetus. yipppee! Babies for every pop star!

Saturday, February 26

Bedsheets revisited

I think it's really sweet that Kirsten Dunst gave her white, shapeless, oversized baby doll dress to Ashley Olson. After all the stress Ashley is under, what with her twin sisters uh.."eating disorder" (thats what we in the biz call a drug problem, sort of like when someone has a drinking problem, it suddenly becomes that person is "taking time off") she needed a little pick me up in the form of a second hand garment still reeking of Jake Gyllenhall and cigarettes.

A new dress always makes me feel good no matter how low I have been sinking. A new pair of shoes really makes me happy. A new dress that is an amorphous Laura Ashley nightgown from 1989 makes me feel the opposite of happy - rather shlumpy, but that's just me.

While Kirsten has paired her nightie cum dress with a black Gap turtleneck, Ash has put a gray tee shirt under hers and added a toothpaste green bag and black boots. Gives a whole new look to the dress, doesn't it? Well, no.

The outfit reminds me of an unmade bed; sloppy yet comfortable. A spritz of Paris Hilton's perfume and you've got the dirty bedsheet scent to go along with the white sheet dress. So cuuuute!

Glamazon, get your party on

I can't help myself. Sometimes I eat too many carbs and if I don't have a fleet emena handy, I can just find a photo of Star "married to a gay man" Jones and my white flour products make a quick exit through my colon and I feel instantly lighter. Nauseas, but lighter.

I thought I would show you my latest stomach twisting photo. What is more gross than Star sharing a cigar with...well, herself, naked in a tub of fart bubbles? Are you wishing the candle would ignite her wig and melt her eyeballs thus rendering her unable to claw her way to the red carpet? Oh! Oh! You are so mean!

Shhhhh. Got a secret!

Shhhh. Come here. I have a secret. Don't tell my husband Rick. Oh wait, his name is Nick, right. I was just doing blow with Paris in the bathroom, do I have white around my what are those things called? oh, nostrils. Shhhhh! Come on, don't tell anyone, 'kay? My daddy would kill me! Seriously.

But Dick..oh, what? Yeah. Nick was doing hemmoroids- no wait- astroids- no- steroids! so he's got his own stuff to worry about. I'm just gonna ignore this and hope that no one finds out. Did you see those messages on that Paris Hilton sidekick? Did you read the part about me trying to date Justin Timberlake? I should have married him instead of Nick. I got my boy bands mixed up and didn't remember who I was dating. For a minute I thought I was with some guy from O-Town. But then daddy told me it was Nick, oh yeah!

Have you tried my newest dusting powder? It's called Candy Corn Blow. I don't know what it means but Paris said it would sell well. She said she is all about servicing the customer, whatever that means.

Boobie Hills, 90210

When I first landed in Los Angeles, I arrived to work as an extra on the set of Beverly Hills 90210. I pulled up in my 1975 lime green Gremlin which was coughing black smoke out of the tailpipe.

Tori Spelling stood with Jennie Garth, pointing and laughing at me, even though clearly I was very cool with my Warrant cassette tape blasting "Cherry Pie" of my radio and I wore a plastic comb in the back pocket of my Sassoon jeans. I never forgot how wicked Tori was to me, giggling and waving one hundred dollar bills in my face.

So, when I was in Mexico several years ago, I happened to drop by a plastic surgeons office to pick up some contraband Retin A and noticed Tori was about to go in for a breast augmentation. Paying the nurse twenty American dollars, a pair of Levi jeans and a bottle of Jean Nate, she agreed to have the dr. insert a zip lock bag full of red jello into Tori's chest.

Don't pass this around. Shhhhhh. It's a big secret and I wouldn't want my cover blown. But look at her chest. What else could it be besides baggies full of gelatin done by a surgeon who received his license from the Domincan Republic and was blind in one eye using a spork and a potato peeler to perform surgery?

Friday, February 25

The stench of Paris lingers on Nick...

Nick Carter, formerly of the Backstreet Boys or is that band still together? I can always pick Nick out of the crowd because he was the least coordinated B. Boy. Thumping around like a gorilla. Anyhoo, poor Nick! He was seriously disgruntled. Let me tell you what happened...

I was leaving my pilates-yoga-gymnastics-trapeze class yesterday evening and I literally bumped into him. He pretended he didn't remember me- or that night in Orlando- but I pressed on until he finally said he thought he might have known me from somewhere (I believe he was playing dumb,, how could he miss me? I've been in four magazines this year! Duh! He was never the smartest one of the bunch). Discontent was written all over his scowling face, so I asked him, "What's up, funny face?"

Collapsing on the curb, he explained to me when the contents of Paris Hilton's crystal and rhinestone studded sidekick were put out on display for all the world to see- along with a coupon for a free One Night in Paris video and fifty percent off her perfume, (that girl knows how to market!) he was saddened to learn not only was his phone number NOT included in her address book, but the many messages the two shared were suspiciously missing.

"Erased!" he scoffed. "That damn Fred Durst. Limp Bizkit my assfizzle!" I lay a hand on his arm and pleaded with him to just step away from the Mad Dog and this is a new chance to start over and blah blah. With tears shining in his eyes, he nodded as I told him he should pursue Tara "I'm smart! really!" Reid. She 's a good rebound girl.

When I walked away with my yoga mat tucked under my arm and my special Kabbalah energy beverage clutched in my manicured hand, he said, "DJ, I hear Orlando Bloom is available...do you think you could -?"

Errr....uh...NO. But I think Ricky Martin might be waiting for your call.

Thursday, February 24

this Blossom has faded

Remember the "hit show", (I use the term in the loosest sense) Blossom? I present to you little Blossom, now all grown up. Mayim is suffering from pre-geriatric disease. She believes she has been residing at an assisted living facility on Long Island where bingo is on Sunday nights and canasta is played on Tuesdays. Tapioca pudding is Fridays after the viewing of a Steve Guttenburg movie. Mayim? How shall I put this...you're not eighty. Or even seventy..fifty..I dont even think you have hit thirty yet.

There is no reason why you are dressed like my grandmother on her way out to a viewing at the funeral parlor. Why dont you get over to Forever 21 and buy some cute pants and a sequined top? Or if you want to be conservative, there's always Banana Republic.

No need to shop at the Misses department in Montgomery Ward. And no need to wear brick red lipstick and walk around with untweezed brows when that nice little nest egg from Blossom can afford you new clothes and a trip to the waxer.

Kirstie's Valley

After spending too much time in Tom Cruise's Scientology Dianetics bus, Kirstie Alley emerged confused about her bra size. Still reeling from the hot wax brow shaping and the vanilla sky electropsychometer shock therapy, not to mention the thetan anal audit, Kirstie was certain she needed an A cup and proceeded to buy a bra which has internal scaffolding and lifts, separates and expands her already juggy breasts.

She showed up at the Fat Actress function not sure why people were staring and why John Travolta asked if he could take lay his head on her pillows for a quick nap.

Lord of the 'stache

When I first viewed this photo, I thought, Wow that guy looks just like a greasyViggo Mortenson after he spent a night sharing a park bench and a jigger of whiskey with Ethan Hawke. And then I read the caption and low and behold, it really is Viggo.

Vigster- what happened? Do you need a cute little thing to wear a nurses costume and administer some first aid? A shave? haircut? You tell me what you need, precious, and Distressed will take care of you. There, there. Don't look so glum.

Appearing to have lost weight and wearing a second hand suit from PeeWee Herman (minus the stains), he reminds me of Daniel Day Lewis' long lost cousin. He is going this look:"I'm an artiste and do not have to bathe in order to prove my talent."

He is known to be a poet, a photographer and a writer, as well as a craftsman and designer. If he is willing to shave off the wild west mustache, I'm willing to act as his muse. *wink wink*

WARNING: Star watch 2005

Oh boy, I just can't wait for the E! Oscar pre-show with Star. I see she has a mark on her shirt for the sniper already.

I recall only a few months ago when I was lunching at The Ivy when who should come strutting in, demanding the bathroom be cleared and a new issue of Ebony be produced and purple candles be lit for her own tour of the toilet, but Miss Star Jones herself.

As I waited in line for use of the facilities, I was told to sit down because Star was coming through and she should not have to wait. Then I watched in awe as she insisted on three tables be pushed together when it was only she and her assistant eating. Husband Al waited curbside, watching Star shovel in her lunch.

Ms. Jones (wearing a tight white tracksuit and heels) was waving her long talons around, ordering the waiters like she was some kind of royalty. I sat there with my own assistant, mouth agape as I watched her. Finally I approached her table and she turned to me, probably expecting me to ask for an autograph (HA!) and I said, "Excuse me, aren't you Della Reese?" The look on her face was priceless.

Will work for latest Green Day cd

Shane West is all, "Yeah? So what. I was just shoveling snow and decided to drive my Ford F150 over to this fashion show. What's the problemo?"

Well, Shane. The problem is this: When you show up at an event such as a fashion show in Los Angeles, the dress code isn't the winter parka with the fur trimmed hood from Ski Chalet you bought off the 50% off rack three years ago. It is not a gray Champion tee shirt from your afternoon of basketball and it certainly doesn't include baggy track pants and scuffy boots.

Dude, wipe that smirk off your face! Get over to Saks and spend some of that cash you earned playing a punk doctor on ER, buy a decent outfit, preferably preceeded by a shower and a shave.

Careful, she just drank her prune juice

Who is that little old lady getting out of the SUV? Look at the ear flaps on the furry babushka! The scarf and matching ruby slippers! The belted jacket! I love to see old ladies looking so cute. Awww, is someone driving Miss Daisy?

Oops- that is none other than Madonna, holding her purse like a very prim and proper middle aged British mother with her legs clamped together. This cannot be the same person who wore a pointy nippled bra with fishnet hose and dated Dennis Rodman.

Alas, but it is! That Kabbalah energy drink must not work so well. I have my own bottled beverage, its called Aqua de limon. Comes with a blue string to wear around your ankle. Keeps me energetic and positive. Who needs Kabbalah when you have DistressedJeans?

Don't you just love the way it's so trendy, so all the rage to carry around a tiny tea-cup dog in your LV bag and dress him/her in itty bitty Prada fashions and cover them in diamonds? I know Anna Wintour, my own dog, just loves getting groomed to hit to town with me. You should see her decked out in her mini Juicy Couture sweats and ribbons around her tail. Not to mention her OPI painted toe-nails.

But please- someone!- send a memo to Rhona Mitra. (who got her big break on Party of Five playing Bailey's girlfriend, remember?) Rhona is about to give herself a hernia and a slipped disc carrying around that tubby little pig. It just defeats the purpose of being chic and cute when you are hoisting a big, angry animal on your hip.

To be carried in a DESIGNER BAG, Rhona! Mini animals! Portable! Please, do I have to spell it out for you? CHIHUAHUA. And you must give it a cute name like Dolce or Gabbana or Donatella. Poodle and maltese- acceptable but not preferred. Didn't you receive a copy of my recently published debut masterpiece entitled, "Etiquette Rules in Hollywood- Make Mine Miu Miu" ?

Pick with caution

Aha! Another nose picker caught on film. This time, Diane Lane does what's called "The Thumb Pick" meaning- (noun). a modified nose pick disguised to look as if you are wiping your nose with your thumb when indeed you are inching your nail up your nostril. Discreet, but discernible from just an itch or rub.

People, if you are going out in public and you are a celeb- which, I assume many of you are, I strongly urge you to keep all digits from you face. Do not attempt to remove tripe or caviar from your teeth, no talking with your mouth full of liver on toast points and under no circumstances should you reach down your low riding Seven for All Humanity Jeans and adjust your Cosabella thong. Just don't. There will always be a paparazzi lurking about with a zoom lens, ready and eager to snap your picture and immortalize your bad behavior for all the world to view. Refer to Diane Lane and Nicky Hilton, both guilty of nasal clearance.

Wednesday, February 23

No shoes, no service

Dont you love this picture? She is sticking out her tongue, pointing to her private parts. Lovely! Again, sending messages of evil of hate to her sister.

They call it the "No skin, no tabloid" tour. I call it the "No talent, no singing" concert. I won four free tickets to this phenomenon known as Ashlee Simpson and sold them on Ebay where four front row seats earned me a whopping $23. 77.

I designed my own shirts to throw into the pot, sketching a black haired, mullet sporting girl wearing all black, doing a jig. It was quite good, actually. Maybe I'll design a whole line of shirts with Paris (who is baking on the beaches of Aruba as we speak with her boyfriend, Paris, wearing a bikini emblazened with her likeness) Tara "Weed" and Lindsay "they're real! it was a growth spurt!" Lohan. Think of the marketing we could do with those shirts. Possibilities are endless.

Tom has a message for you

"I have a butt plug in my pants and I like it. It's a Scientological device which L. Ron Hubbard designed as a form of mind control. Why don't you take a visit into my white van and you too can experience what Jenna Elfman calls, 'A mind blowing, not to mention anal clenching adventure which all of Hollywood should endorse. Especially those namby pamby Kabbalists.' "

Tom has so kindly (which all of you know by now) pulled up his own decked out Battlefield Earth conversion vehicle in front of production for his latest movie, complete with a generator powered by what Tom calls a "special Scientology juice".

Kirstie Alley drops by for a Dianetic hydraulic brain wave shock treatment and a bag of EL Fudge cookies. John Travolta comes over every morning at 5:30 for a testicle massage and a body fluid release, followed by a transmigration medulla oblongata dismemberment. Intriguing, no? Look at what Ashton is missing out on. Ha! Red bracelets!

Care to step into the van?

A page from the diary of Paris...

"Dear Diary, Woke up at noon. First thing I did was look in my mirror and apply my MAC lipglass in Prrrr. Had breakfast- coffee and a stick of gum. Daddy bought me a new Nokia cell phone,- made my servants apply rhinestones while I went to get hair done.

Had extensions again, anal bleaching and body wax. Went shopping, spent ten grand at Kitson and bought Nicky a shirt with my face on it. Also bought a Paris shirt and a Paris trucker cap. Had lunch at the Ivy. Threw it up in the bathroom of Lisa Kline.

Paris, I love myself. I'm hot. Can't believe phone got hacked into and the FBI is looking into it. hahaha. I'm so hot. And smart. Tara could never come up with anything this good. Nicole was getting all that attention for losing weight and getting engaged and blah blah blah. Its all about PARIS.

So glad I got Simon Rex to "break" into my cell and spread my address book and photos on the web. Also glad I taught Tinkerbell how to take photos with cell. That was a hot idea. Now everyone is thinking about me again. Paris is hot. Nicole is so not. Duh! Like, now everyone knows that I kissed Egplantina and that I do not have implants. But its like, SO EMBARASSING. Like, I can't believe that everyone knows that I had Frankie Muniz's phone number. That made me cry. He is NOT HOT even though he has a way cool car.

And Tara is pissed because zit faced boys keep calling her number. And Stephen King wont send me free books now. But who cares? I can barely read -or understand- his books. I like Sweet Valley High. Whatever happened to Jessica anyway? She was HOT like me.

Paris. Gosh, I love myself. Oh, time to go out with Paris. Love his name. Bad hair, cool name. Gotta run to the salon and get makeup done. Then have servants run my bath. Have Nicky pick up photos at Rite Aid. Get money from daddy. Wait, I'm HOT. Have to read about self in news and look on w.image for photos of me. Nothing is hotter than myself all over the webt. Have to get rid of Michael Jackson thing. I'm hotter."

Can't Bob Saget do anything to help?

Please. Feed the Children. Oh, now we know why Paris had that number programed into her cell phone. Look at Mary Kate's toothpick legs. Can't someone help her? My own powers do not stretch that far. I can only help with her frizzy hair which I suggest equal parts Frizz-Ease and BioSilk.

Let me clarify. Trusted sources tell me that she is a drug addict, not an anorexic. That place she went to in Utah? You know, to assist with her "eating problem" was really a stint to help with her cocaine fixation. Whats in that venti Starbucks cup anyway? Its not a mocha with extra milk. I think its pure caffeine laced with a Colon Blow-speed cocktail. This just proves that money can't buy happiness. It can just buy a lot of clothes. And big purses. And drugs, apparently.

Tuesday, February 22

BREAKING NEWS

NICKY HILTON PICKS HER NOSE. The money shot. You know when she picks, 24 kt gold, crystal encrusted boogers come out.

I wonder how much this photo is fetching? And will it end up on the cover of People Magazine this week? I can't believe it. Nicky Hilton actually shops at Rite Aid? And are those photos under her arm fresh from Paris' cell phone? No need for reprints. We've got them on the internet. Printers are spitting copies out around the globe as we speak.

Do you believe this?

OMG! The indignity of it all. First, Kirsten Dunst had to fly commercial all the way from France.
Oh please! At least tell me she got to fly in first class, not in coach. That would just be severe and unjust punishment. Then, she had to retrieve her own luggage and grab her own cart! How did she come up with the three dollars in quarters for the cart? WHY isn't there a bodyguard or an assistant to perform those menial tasks? Please- don't tell me she had to pull her own bags off the luggage carousel, shhhh!

Don't you know who she is? She was in Spiderman, for cryin out loud. Please! This girl should be given a dozen long stemmed roses and a limo ride over to the day spa so she can recover from flying Air France and not the Universal Studios private jet with the massuese and aromatherapist. My goodness! I am appalled at the lack of star treatment. Poor, poor Kirsten. Will she ever recover?

Tighter!

When she asked if her butt looked big in those pants, I just covered my mouth stifling a giggle and told her "No! Can you fit into a smaller size? You know white pants always make you look thin!" then I had to turn around so I didn't burst into a fit of laughter.

Everyone knows white pants creates a marshmallow effect. Your legs look like large, white, soft puffy sausages, especially when you insist on camel toe inducing spandex- lycra- blended fabrics.

When she asked which shoes to wear, I said, "Do you have anything that resembles Pomeranians you could wear as boots?" and she produced those, prompting me to give her the thumbs up. And then I suggested the heavy white coat, lined with purple rayon. "It'll keep you cool while you dance on stage." I insisted. She shrugged and put it on.

When I asked if I could do her makeup, she pushed me out the door and instructed me to get over to the mall and buy a case of Glow, then go to the florist and make sure her dressing room was filled with white calla lilies.

Not taking orders from anyone, especially a diva like her, I ordered the case of Glow but had it sent COD to Jennifer Garner. Did you think I didn't have a sense of humor?

You call that a nose job?

Here is Jennifer Lopez, age fifty trying to be thirty five. No, seriously. She doesn't look very good in my expert opinion. Did she draw on her brows with a Sharpie pen? Is she dipping into the same self tanner as Nicky Hilton? When will people realize that your skin isn't supposed to be a terra cotta hue?

Besides that, she just looks, I don't know, wrinkled like a pound puppy. And that is not a gigantic q-tip coming out of her ear around to her cheek. I know you wondered what it was. It's a secret microphone so she can talk with Marc Anthony who is waiting in the green room feeding her lines.

Gosh, I can't take my eyes off those brows. Baaaaaad. Please hand her some tweezers and a mirror.

Nice sweater, dude

Another pre-plastic surgery famous face I uncovered. Imagine thinning hair and a snarky sense of humor, plus a penchant for drinking and being loud. Any guesses?

***Ding ding ding*** Yes its Vince Vaughn. But why did he have a nose job? He was fine before going under the knife.

Give the girl an Oscar, an Emmy and a Grammy

Poor Lindsay Lohan. First was the whole implant question- did she or didnt she? Was it a "growth spurt" ? Then she was caught partying in New Orleans, all Coyote Ugly on the bar with a Marlboro light in her mouth and a long neck Coors in her hand. Recently, her dad just crashed his car, Billy Joel style, into a phone pole on Long Island. Her BFF just stole her ex boyfriend. Yes, thats right. Wilmer and Ashlee. I think Lindsay should go out with clean sweep Ryan Cabrerra and his broomstick hair. Whats fair is fair, right? And who can forget the very public feud with Hilary Duff over Aaron Carter (I ask myself WHY every time I see a photo of him).

And of course, we all know Paris just sent an invite to the entire world to call Lindsay, offering up her cell number to all the internet subscribers on planet earth. The Mystic Tan Lindsay applied looks to be fading on her upper chest, yet she still manages to press her frosty lips together into a tight smile and wear a jaunty little biker hat and a white wife beater (another shirt from the K. Fed Collection) and show up at the TRL awards.

Poor thing is suffering on the inside. But she puts on a happy face for all of us, her fans. If she doesn't deserve an Oscar, I dont know who does. And I haven't even seen Herbie, Fully Loaded yet.

Monday, February 21

Dial 555 PARIS for a good time

Poor Paris. Don't you feel sorry for her, getting her cell phone hacked and the contents splashed all over the internet including topless photos she took of herself? Sort of like the sex videos that she made- of herself? And then there's the many photos of her by herself, her with her dog, her with another girl. A little narcisstic, our Paris? I know firsthand that she has her entire five thousand square foot bedroom covered in floor to ceiling mirrors with rotating spotlights.

I tried calling Eminem and Lindsay, but they didn't answer. I left messages. And I satisfied my urge to consume some light reading this afternoon by studying the line by line messages from her cell. Fascinating. I needed to know what goes inside that Swarovski studded blonde head of Paris. Spray tan? Birth control kill pill? Gift for Nicky? This is best seller material. I had to print it all out so I could read it again before I go to bed tonight. Then I bedazzled all the pages and drew a picture of Paris in the upper left hand corner, but not before spraying my Paris perfume over the paper.

People, if you haven't read it, get yourself over one of the many sites that offer this juicy reading and pull up a seat. And if you are really excited, you can order the shirt. And if you wait about three days, a new scandal will be erupting and this will be almost forgotten.

Except you know those topless photos will find their way into one of the tabloids by the end of the week. Did I mention the lesbian lip lock photos? Remind me to turn my cell phone to OFF.

The Kutch at Nascar

Is it cool with the high Kabbalah elders for Ashton and Demi to be at a Nascar race? Is it written in the bylaws of the Celebrity Guide to the Kabbalah (the official Hollywood manual) that car races are allowed? Or is he punking Jeff Gordon?

Last year I met Ashton "The Kutch" over at Sky Bar at the Mondrian Hotel for drinks. Before I arrived, I tied a piece of red yarn around my wrist, knowing that he is worse than a Jehovahs Witness on my doorstep when it comes to religion and Kabbalah. He's pushier than Madonna and she is a force to be reckoned with. She not only sent me a case of Kabbalah water, but a signed copy of the Zohar.

But I digress. I would have never guessed The Kutch as a NASCAR fan. Bruce Willis, yes. He looks the part of a middle aged racing fan with a beer in one hand and a flag in the other with a cowboy hat on his head. But not Ash. And what is Demi wearing? Is that a sequined encrusted western style shirt? Is that regulation car racing wear? I dont know anything about Nascar. But I know a lot about fashion, and Ashton's busy jacket and Demi's shirt are pretty ugly. Please tell me they aren't wearing matching Uggs.

I bumped into Meg Ryan today when I was picking up my dog from her spa visit. She was having a high colonic and an aromatherapy treatment (my dog, not Meg Ryan) which is very chic here in Hollywood. I hear Paris checks Tinkerbell in to have a canine massage and anal sac cleansing with sea salts.

Anyway, I was leaving and who should I bump into but Meg. And I was all (air kiss) "Meg! Hey! I didnt recognize you!" and she lowered her head and mumbled something about getting her lip implants removed because no one in LA wanted to hire her for film work because people were frightened of what's called a "trout pout".

So I was forced to look away and claim ignorance even though its totally possible that I coined the term "trout pout" myself after seeing said implants. And I tried to soothe her and comment on her firm, tight skin but she took offense and stormed off in a huff, which if you know her like I do, is quite typical. I wasn't lying, her skin was pulled taut and stretched thin and I knew that she had work done and of course she's been getting doses of Botox since 1996. That skin was pretty snug over those cheekbones and her top lip did look a little poofy although she hadn't ventured into Lisa Rinna territory- yet.

I called after her but she had broken into a fast gallop down the street and there was no way I could catch up to her at that point because my dog was peeing on the tire of a Range Rover which actually belonged to Jennifer Aniston. I found that out after I turned to leave and saw her getting behind the wheel wearing sunglasses and a frown. After my Meg debacle, I left well enough alone and didn't speak to another actress all day. Geez, mention plastic surgery or a divorce or weight gain and these celebs get all snippy.

Sunday, February 20

Welcome to SuperCuts

Goldie, I'd like to introduce you to something I call scissors. They are used to cut paper and other things like.. hair. You know, like when you've had a hairstyle for the past thirty years and it's time to upgrade to something other than a shaggy, overgrown, limp coiff with sheepdog bangs hanging in your bloodshot eyes.

I see you're still recovering from that carb binge you went on. Goldie, your face is looking as puffy as a biscuit and I notice a little tummy protrusion. Stretchy, clingy fabrics are not a good idea for anyone. Not to be mean, but a girdle and a haircut would really turn things around for you. And seriously, I'm not saying this because of how you snubbed me. I'm overcoming the bitterness that caused me to throw a flaming bag of dog poop on your lotus flowers last year.

And Kurt, you look like one big potato head of gin blossoms. Are you hitting the Jim Beam? Why don't you slip some into your womans drink and together we can get rid of that rats nest and bring her hair into the new millenium?

A diary entry from Paris~

"Dear Diary, I woke up so early this morning, like eleven ! Can't believe my croissant and coffee were NOT READY again. Ugh! Like, the cook needs to be fired! Hello! And why weren't my Juicy Couture pants dry cleaned? And, like I asked that my Mukluks be dry brushed! Whats wrong with the servants around here?

Went shopping with Nicky on Rodeo. Only spent eight thousand, need to talk to daddy about a bigger allowance. So not fair! Talked on my cell phone all afternoon while laying by the pool and text messaging on my crystal studded Blackberry. Tara and Lindsay will not like, leave me alone. Tara is in Florida. Is that a city or a state? Who cares.

But like, the best thing happened. I finally met Mr. Right. And his name is Paris, how like, cool is that? Totally. And he is even richer than me. I don't care if his hair has too much SunIn in it, he is hot because he has lots of money and can buy me stuff. Forget Nick Carter or Rick Saloman. They were not hot. Or rich. Or named Paris.

Paris and Paris, that is like, so hot!! SO HOT. Paris and Paris 4ever. I went to the salon where I got my pale blonde extensions and got my makeup done up, heavy on the purple eyeshadow and frosted pink lipstick. I was brought home in my diamond encrusted Bentley and talked on my cell phone some more. I love talking about Paris. Paris. Paris.

Then got ready to go out- with Paris. Like, I love that name. My line of shirts are coming out soon with my face on them. Now I have a perfume, shirts, purses and a boyfriend all named after me, Paris. And when I adopt kids- because there is like, no way I'm going to get fat- I'm going to name them Paris too. That is so hot."

A night out with the boys

Jada Pinkett Smith is debuting the Kevin Federline brand of clothing, the "K Fed Collection", if you will. Note the baggy jeans and oversized shirt. Wearing these clothes, you must choose sizes that are too large and unflattering. Wife beater, optional.

Jada decided to lace up her shoes, despite the warning that comes with the clothes: shoes must remain unlaced/unvelcro-ed. Is it me or does she look masculine? And I'm not talking just a tiny bit manly, I have to wonder if she's packing something in those jeans.

I have no appreciation of the thuggy appearance of this usually attractive woman. I know, Jada, it really is such a pain to get all dressed up in heels and a skirt and pile on the cosmetics and look all girly and cute, but I rather make the effort than end up being confused with a male. Does Will find men attractive? Or is this some kind of sexual role play? Does the fact that you are spending the evening with Tom "if you say I'm gay, I'll sue you" Cruise, play a part in any of this?

Nothing is left to the imagination

Just so you can get the flavor of the night, I wanted to display for you some photos I stumbled upon of Pamela Anderson, devoted soccer mom of two young boys. I'm sure you were wondering what she looked like without her clothes on, now you can get a good idea.

When she isn't parading around showing off the lower quadrant of her implants, she's lifting her skirt to show off her blue thong. She's drinking champagne, she's partying like its 1999. Although not pictured here, Dennis Rodman was present, determined to slip her the salami after the party. He's about twice the size of Stephen Dorff- literally.

Her XXS shirt rides up, her extra petite, band-aid of a skirt almost comes off, but the trucker hat stays in place. At least something is covered.

Saturday, February 19

PULL MY FINGER. No thanks, Paris. You just had the black bean crab salad with the tripe and goat cheese and I don't want to be near you, let alone pull your finger. That Paris, such a prankster.

I'm sure you didnt know this, but she frequently passes gas and blames it on her tiny, shaking dog Tinkerbell. Why do you think she insists on carrying that dog with her everywhere?

I cannot believe the camera actually caught her pulling the "pull my finger" stunt, but there you go. And look at that grin on her face. Back up people. It's going to be nasty.

P. Drooly

I used to hang out with Puff Diddy a lot back on the east coast. Used to attend his fancy parties at his huge estate on the Hamptons. It was wild, lavish, and everything you would think a big party would be.

The Cristal was flowing freely, caviar was spread out on imported crackers, beautiful waitresses strolled around offering pate on gold plated trays. Music was pulsating , oxygen was pumped in, the pool was all aglow with tiny lights floating on lily pads. Believe me, it was amazing and the guest list read like a who's who of the music industry. The only negative was that Jennifer Lopez was kind of mean to me a few times, cutting in front of me on line for the ladies room.

Anyway, Puffy is a great guy but ultimately I had to start refusing the invites. Why, you ask? Well, to be honest, it had something to do with his drooling. Yeah. He drools, a lot. Occasionally he had a Red Lobster-type bib around his neck to catch the drool but more often than not he would have a line of spittle dangling off his protruding bottom lip and it was gross. I offered him napkins and scarves to wipe but he refused, using the cuff of his silk shirt instead.

You were right if you said JESSICA SIMPSON. If you look real hard you can see the reflection of Joe Simpson in her glasses. Are you kidding? He never lets her out of his sight.

Swing low...

Tara Reid, I would like to suggest a wardrobe garment called a "bra". This contraption will not only lift your boobs, but help relieve the pressure from your shoulders. It pains me to look at you, yet I can't stop staring. Like becoming entranced with a bad accident on the freeway, I just can't tear myself away from the tragedy that has become of your breasts.

Have you been acting as a wet nurse for the many celebs who have given birth lately? Trying to pick up a little cash on the side, perhaps? Then what other excuse is there to have tits drooping towards your belly like the heavy udders of a cow that is past milking time?

It appears that you have been breast feeding a few kids for the past couple of months. Those are post nursing boobs and don't deny it. I haven't seen so much saggage since Paris Hilton's soggy butt in her bikini on the beach. Tara, remember, low cut shirts are not your friend but a sturdy bra is.

Friday, February 18

Am I tan?

Hey y'all. Gimme 'nother round of drinks? And a pack of smokes too, y'all.

Well, me and Kev, we've been like, hangin' out in Kentwood these pass coupla weeks. We hadn't been back here in munts. I's been by da pool, Kev went out to find somethin' probably some weed, y'all. I wanted to lay out and work on mah tan. I want to be like, really tan. My tur bus used ta have a tannin' bed. But I aint goin' on another tur 'cause I'd like, really miss Kev! So, we's decided to come here and like, hang out at mah house. And I just rub baby oil into mah skin and eat pork rinds and chips and not worry 'bout anything- like all a Kev's kids back in California.

We's talkin' bout going up Jawjah and goin' to Atlanta. It's gonna be so fun! Like a road trip wif me and mah Kev and Bitbit. Have y'all seen Kev in Details magazine? He is so hot! I hadda beg the editers to put him on the cover and they was laughing and sayin' somethin' bout a free ride and a meal ticket and I'm all, whats that?

Y'all, I can't believe I'm married! And its lasting longer than when I took off to Vegas andd married Jason Alexander. Not the guy from Seinfeld.

Marriage is like, so fun. I can't wait to be a mama. It's gonna be so cool. I'm gonna have babies that look just like mah Kev with lil trucker caps and unlaced hightops! Im wantin' all little boys named Kevin Earl! Im tryin' real hard to git pregnant. I cut back on mah smokin' and drinkin' y'all. Honest I have.

And I've been like, shopping for baby stuff, y'all. And Jamie Lynn can't wait to be an aunt. If it's a girl, I'm gonna name her Britney Lynn Or maybe Britney Earl! Or Earline Kevina! Y'all, ain't that so cute? Well, I gotta go rub some more oil into mah skin. I'm starting to fry real good. That means mah skin will turn brown and I'll look real purty when we go out for Popeyes chicken tonight. Bye, y'all!

A love story

Once upon a time, there was an actor, lets call him Ken Baffleck. Well, Ken was very popular, although a bit scruffy and had a penchant for beer and poker. He met and fell in love with a woman named...lets call her Mennifer. She was fresh from a break up with B. Niddy.

Mennifer Bopez gave Ken a Queer Eye makeover minus the queer guys. She forced him to slick back his hair and get facials and wax his back and get a pedicure and invited him to be in a music video where they lay on a yacht where he kept running his manicured hands over her ample bottom so much so that the video now comes with a warning that over-watching may induce a phobia of oversized rear ends.

One day, they decided the "press" interfered with their relationship and the whole Kennifer relationship had run out of steam, especially since the box office bomb, Jiggly. So months passed and she married to someone else and Ken donated the Gucci suits and the Armani wool overcoats to Salvation Army and went au natural, letting his unkempt, ball scratching self free. Enter another girl, this one named Lennifer. She was cute, sweet, a divorced actress who knew how to kick some ass although she herself didnt have a large one.

Determined not to have a repeat of his previous failed relationship that included lots of butt rubbing, spa visits and copious amounts of self tanner, the two of them decided not to work together and not be in the public eye every second. They rented videos from Blockbuster, preferring quiet evenings of pizza and beer to going out every night to each happening spot in Los Angeles. Ken was glad not to have to be dressed up like an oversized doll in expensive suits and imported hair product.

So, as this love story concludes my trusty sources tell me there will be an engagement and following that will be little baby Ken's. I can hardly wait for the next chapter.

Wake up! Birds are nesting in your hair

I'm glad Pam covered up here, even if her top half appears to be larger than her gigantic hair. What happened was, she went into the parking lot and a flock of wild Las Vegan eagles landed in her blonde hair and got tangled in her hairpsrayed tresses. She was so intoxicated that she didn't even notice, she thought it was her boyfriend messing up her hair again.

She changed into her modified Champion sweatshirt- cut up and redone to show some skin- not even aware of the fact that her hair was larger the billboard over at Ballys. She beelined it right to the slot machines where she kept feeding it nickels and her boyfriend couldnt even tell her it was a quarter machine.

Finally she passed out on the craps table, her implants acting as a cushion to pad her fall. Thank goodness she went with the G-cups or else she may have broken something.

Wow. What an amazing coincidence. That is the same outfit I just wore to dinner last night! That Pam! Such a copycat. Except the shirt didn't quite fit me like that. For one, I wore a bra and the shirt actually fit me like a shirt not like a cut off tank top exposing the bottoms of my breasts. And two, I don't have those abs no matter how many pilates classes I take. And three, I was not wearing the trucker cap at an angle on my head. I had on a fedora. So really, I guess we didn't have the same outfit on because mine covered all my private parts. You can't tell from this photo but Pam's skirt is the size of my wrist band. And she is the unnatural shade of terra cotta that only comes from living in a tanning bed.

I don't know what happened to Pammy. We used to hang out and take long walks on the beach and do girl things like paint each other nails and make fun of David Hasselhoff. Then she took up with that midget, Stephen Dorff and I haven't heard from her since.

Then she shows up in Las Vegas looking like a stripper from the Spearmint Rhino, giving everyone a peek of the bottom quarter of her implants, stumbling around on impossibly high heels, wearing more makeup than a Madonna impersonater over at the Tropicana.

It's clear-Stephen Dorff must be stopped. I prefer the Tommy Lee version of Pamela, or even the Kid Rock Pamela. SD encourages her to show off her ample breasts and dress like a Hollywood Blvd. hooker. How much for one night, Pam?

Cuckoo for crack

If crack is whack, then give Whitney some smack. No reason to travel to New Orleans when the party is on Whitneys head. Shes got a Mardi Gras float in her hair complete with party streamers. The only thing that is missing is the beads. but give her a minute, the shirt comes off, the beads go on and then the party really gets started.

Oh how sweet Whit has changed since we saw her in The Bodyguard. Witness the effect of being married to Bobby Brown: weight loss, drug addiction and odd choice in hats.

The last time I was hanging with Whitney we were at a birthday party for a singer in the industry. I was trying to carry on a conversation with her, but she didnt know where she was or what day of the week it was, she kept slurring her words and trying to force out monosyllabic grunts while smoking and holding a glass of champgane. To be honest, she grossed me out because she kept dribbling down her chin and drooling while quivering and calling out, "Bobby! Bring mama some of the good stuff!"

I gave up on discussing world politics with her and walked off to find Christina Aguilera who really knows how to carry on a discussion. And she doesn't shake or drool which is a plus when attempting to converse.

Pimp My Ride, Y'all

This is the new car Britney is buying for Cletus. He asked for a vehicle that was more "southern" to fit in with her Louisiana roots rather than the tricked out convertible he's been driving. They happened across this lovely Mercedes with the special tires as seen in the Kentwood Auto Trader.

The first thing Kev said when he laid his half- opened eyes on this car was, "Baby, I gotta git me a gun rack for this." And she paused from smoking her unfiltered cigarette, and was all, "Oh baby. I'll buy you whatever you want. Y'all want a cd changer in there too? How 'bout a special cup holder for your beer?"

We should feel very lucky to have the first glimpse of the new-used Federline wheels. It's quite a ride. They say the same thing about Britney. oops!

Yasmin Le Bon Bon

Yasmin Le Bon why are you dressed like a dessert item? Your skirt conjures up images of a parfait of some kind, strawberry perhaps? With a blouse of pistachio and a shrug of whipped cream. The only thing missing is a cherry so if you could please find a red fedora, that would really cap off the Dairy Queen fantasy.

Remember back in the day- you, me and the boys from Duran Duran, how we used to party at the underground clubs in Manhattan? And how we used to be too wasted to walk home so we would crash at Simon's hotel room and then go on look-sees when we were struggling to be models? And you started doing the whole Victoria's Secret thing while I lived with a shaman in Sedona for a year working on my spirituality.

I have not seen you in so long, imagine my disappointment when the first time I lay my eyes on you, you are wearing an awful fruity layer skirt! You need to call me, Yas. We'll get together and make ourselves throw up and play Eileen Ford and pretend we're new models in the Big Apple. Just like old times. Except please don't dress as a chocolate eclair or a trifle. You know how I try to stay away from sweets.