Listen! LISTEN! I command you! By the pink freckly nipples of Lindsay Lohan! I COMMAND YOU!

This is IMPORTANT!

Oh, wait. No. It isn’t. It’s just Britney fricking Spears…and she’s flashing….her…revolting…lunchmeat-like…labia…lips…AGAIN.

And of course it was all caught on film, like always, commemorated in celluloid forever for all future generations to enjoy.

I am so totally over this shit. Isn’t everyone?

Elsewhere: Bobby Brown is in court facing serious charges for something. Does it matter for what? Don’t be absurd. Of course not. But it’s cocaine anyway. Don’t tell him I told you.

I owe him twenty bucks. He wants to kick my ass as it is.

Have I ever told you that I actually know these people? Bobby Brown? Whitney? Their kids? Their parents? Don’t ask. Long story. And it involves luggage. And might be a lie anyway.

And like the old Ukrainian proverb says, “A story that begins with Whitney Houston’s luggage will end with disaster,” so it’s best we just let the issue drop. Thank you for understanding.

Anyhoozits: Pink just got divorced. I didn’t know she was married. Huh.

Speaking of remembering: You may remember Minnie Driver as that one English chick from that stupid movie you never saw. Well, she’s pregnant. How’s about that.

Ah. Sunrise, sunset. Or whatever.

And lastly (you’re welcome), like the other Old Ukrainian proverb says, “A tale that begins with a vagina will end with Jane Fonda”: Jane Fonda publicly apologized today for her accidental use of the word “C%NT!!!!” on live television by presenting a 25 minute slide show of the personal evolution of her own “c&nt” through the ages (from moist muffin with a smart Hitler moustache to fossilized mango with janky gray hairs) with an “empowering poetic accompaniment” of a lyrical hip-hop performance piece entitled “Yo, Yo, Ode to Mrs. Whiskers.” She hopes to inspire the world to “Just grow up and embrace the vagina and the plethora of beautiful words we have for it. God bless my Jai-jai!” Then she and Oprah French kissed. Paula Cole shed a tear. The end.

All of this totally happened.

Adrian Ryan

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One year ago, Britney Spears shaved her head. It is the anniversary. Hooray.  

Why did she do it? It’s a valid question, I think. For really, that was the definitive moment—the moment her cracks began to show. Hacking her hair off in those big wet chunks with that look on her face—that creepy, creepy look! Like someone had attached a car battery to her nipples.  

It was the same look she had when she kicked the shit out of that Bronco with an umbrella. Well, it was asking for it.  

Before all of that happened, Britney was just Britney, and I just ignored her as any toss-away teeny-bopping trash deserves to be ignored. Contemptibly. Like Tiffany. Like Debby Gibson. Like, for God’s sake, Hanna the fuckuck Montata (which sounds like the an awful like a really dirty limerick if you ask me). But when she shaved her head, well, something happened. Some force was set in motion, some terrible cause whose only possible effect could be….well, this.  

On THAT day, ladies and gentlemen, she was sending us a message. A Big one. A loud one. You and I. All of us. And it was “HELP! I’ve just gone completely BANANAS!”  

And so she had.  

Heiney sight is so totally twenty-twenty. Or, um, something.  

Personally, I’m celebrating with a cake. Shaped like a big bald crazy head. You can get them from Safeway, if you call ahead.  

Ah, Safeway. Is there anything it can’t do? 

In other news: Paula Abdul, who is a drunk, i

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I’m going to have to break my promise again. I beg your pardon. I am an Indian promiser. That’s what I am.

But it can’t be helped, it won’t be helped, I JUST have to say SOMETHING about BRITNEY freaking SPEARS!

I can’t not pay attention. And neither can you, dammit.  Stop looking at me like that.

Well, the whole affair to date has gotten so God-darned awful, I just HAVE to say something. Lucky you. And what I haveto say: It’s all like an unlikely bad soap opera. That’s what it is. It’s hard to put into words just exactly how wretched the situation is.

But allow me an attempt:  It’s Anna Nicole Smith awful. Yes, THAT awful. Okay, the story so far, as I understand it (and I understand it good and plenty), Britney’s, as it were, “mother and father”, have filed for a restraining order against her former manager, a creepy man called Sam Lutfi.

Now, I, like you, had absolutely no clue what a Sam Lutfi was, like, ten minutes ago, but I know now, dammit, and what I know is that Sam Lutfi is is a freakin’ Blackbeard in a $5,000 watch that Britney bought him. I’m telling you.   

According the restraining order, which was obtained by flying monkeys in powdered wigs (or maybe I just dreamed that part–I drink, you see), this Sam Lufti Monster was secretly drugging Britney in an insidious plot to maintain control of her mind and her forty million dollar empire.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Apparently, he dosed her with a brain-twirling concoction of prescription insomnia medication and anti-psychotic pills—he even crushed them up and slipped them into her food on the sly, like some nightmarish Disneyland witch.  

The poison effect of such a terrible potion.. given by such a terrible man for such terrible reasons…were naturally devastating on poor Britney’s fragile mind, and the reports I’m getting now claim that her doctors are fixin’ to put her in some sort of induced coma to try to heal her damaged brain!   Terrible. I’m speechless, I tell you. Do you hear me? Speechless.   And Sam? Well, damning evidence is popping up aplenty to support the terrible claims, and the restraining order was granted. On report clams that “Sam had told Britney that she was an unfit mother, a piece of trash and a whore, that she cares more about Adnan, her current boyfriend, than she cares about her kids, and that she does not deserve the kids then he said if she died, he’d piss on her grave.” Charming.  Anyhoozits, them’s the details to date. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.  

In other news: The toxicology reports on Health Ledger say that he died of too many prescription drugs, just like my grandma did. I didn’t know Heath and my grandma had so much in common. I wonder if they’ve met up there yet.

Well. That’s a maudlin thought.

Adrian Ryan

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Is there anything happening in the world that is not Britney Spears, Britney Spears, BRITNEY SPEARS?  

No? Well. I didn’t really think so anyway. According to a source: 

“In a heavy British accent, a ballistic Brit screamed (about her parents), “I’m so sick of all of this they can have the goddamn house and stick it up their f**king asses. Actually, no they can’t.”  

Oh dear. Oh, dear dear dear. And, then, um:  

“The judge in the hearing today has issued a restraining order against Sam Lutfi — ordering him to stay away from Britney Spears.” 

But, uh, then:  

“A Los Angeles court commissioner has placed Britney Spears and her estate under temporary conservatorship. That means her financial assets and other holdings will be managed by a conservator — the conservators are Jamie Spears and attorney Andrew Wallet.” 

And, well, then…oh screw it.  I can’t take it anymore. 

In anything else: Eva Mendez, who is an actress with very large boobs, has checked herself into rehab because she it’s the hot thing to do, and apparently she’s riddled with substance abuse issues that may or may not have anything to do with her very large boobs. Coincidentally, she is in the same rehab that totally failed Lindsay Lohan and her boobs last summer. Isn’t that nice? 

Then! It seems as if Kirsten Dunst, who I ALWAYS confuse with Claire Danes, isn’t going insane, like everybody said she was. Well, I never said she was, but apparently some other people did, and if you heard that, well darnit, it’s just not true. Not true, ya see! So stop poking her with sticks and asking her to weave baskets.  And that’s not about Britney either. So. Hooray! Just for that I hope Claire Danes never goes insane! I mean Kirsten Dunst! Whatever!  

Finally: Madonna has apparently grown a penis. “It’s bloody huge!” says an apparently British source. “It just sprung up one night, neat as you please! And there it is all big and hairy like—I can’t say I didn’t expect something like this all these years, the way she is you know, but, blimey! You should see it! And the children? Oh, they love it: how they poke it with sticks and laugh…” And yes I made that entire last thing up. But aren’t you glad it wasn’t about Britney fuckucking Spears?  Aren’t YOU??

Adrian Ryan

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Well, the big news today is that Heath Ledger is still dead.

Horrible. But I’m keeping vigil. I’ll never stop. Never.  

Stop looking at me like that. Have you never loved?  

Besides that, Britney Spears is insane. It’s totally official. She is “in for observation” (as they say), which in medical terminology means, “We’re going to charge you $750,000 dollars to tell you what you already know—you crazazy, biznitch!” (Somebody call Michael Moore! Oh…no…please don’t, he eats all the pickles.) And this is a very, well, something or other, situation, indeed.

(Adjectives fail.)  

For you see, if the so-called “observation” goes badly, well. She could be locked up against her will indefinitely. As in “for life.” And say what you will about that poor girl, that would be, as they say, the pits. And if it goes “well?” They’ll charge her double, let her out, and she’ll just keep being crazazy.

This doesn’t look like it is going to happen though, as the hospital has already classified her as GD—“greatly disabled”.  

Well. At least she’ll get the good parking spaces now.  

It’s the silver linings that keep us going.  

What I think? Thanks for asking. I think that Britney does not need expensive quacks quacking around her addled little head; what she needs is the world’s strongest coffee enema (call Starbutt’s—we need a double-tall Crapuccino, stat!”), a good slap across the face, a restraining order against all paparazzi, and three years camping in the Swiss Alps with a heard of Ethiopian orphans, survivor style. Then she needs to get a real driver’s license and another one of those little red string Kabala bracelet thingies. Straighten her right up.  Otherwise, you know. She’s just gonna die and junk. Heaven forbid.  Mark my words.  

But something very strange, here: There is a very hot actor called Justin Chambers, and he plays Dr. Alex Karev on “Grey’s Anatomy.” (I never watch.) Well…um…I don’t know how to say this, but he checked himself in to the loony bin today too, to “get some help” with some sleep and anxiety issues he has. The weird thing? He checked into the exact same psych ward as Britney. Indeed. UCLA Medical Center. And what, exactly do you make of that? Coincidence? Chance? Are they secretly screwing, or going to screw? Or is Britney so powerful a trendsetter, she has made madness the new teacup poodle?

Yes. That’s what I think.  

Speaking of people who are going to die: Amy Winehouse. Even her poor old mum said so in an interview with the BBC. “If my ickle girl don’t stop wif the drugs and the ‘eroine and all, she’ll be dead in a year, she will!” she said, and then she sold me a meatpie and a lump of coal for three farthings, ten. Then she sang, “The Rain In Spain Falls Mainly on the Plain” for ten pence more. Lovely voice. A bargain.

Poor Amy Winehouse.  

Adrian Ryan

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Sources are saying (because that’s what sources do-they say things) that Angelina and Brad are, dear Mother of Mercy, pregnant. As in, with child. Well, more Angelina, technically speaking, than Brad, but you know what I mean. Pregnant! They’ve got half of a Malaysian orphanage on back order, and now she’s pumping out more of her own biological brood? Is this woman a Mormon or what?  Honestly. I demand an answer.  

Does she have ANY idea of what the CARBON EMESSIONS are? Does she know how much of them she is responsible for by procreating like this? From burned fossil fuels? Electricity? Entropy? Does she understand what she is unleashing upon this ever-warming world by bringing (and/or nurturing and/or supporting) even more digestive tracts into it? Does she know how much jet fuel she alone expends every time she goes to get the mail? Let alone the rest of her high-rolling family; a family that she just keeps making bigger and richer and bigger and richer and bigger and richer? If she had been a responsible human being, and hadn’t adopted those poor children (God love ‘em) and dragged them into her rich American lifestyle, do you know what they’d be doing right now? Not shopping and driving around in SUVs with the DVD players in their Nikes and their GAP clothes that their blind and probably polio infected relatives back home slaved to make for 20 cents a week, that’s for sure. They’d be sitting in ditches, eating the flies in their boogers, trying to outrun Sally Struthers.  

I think somewhere here I lost my point.  

Then: Britney Spears got bored of acting crazy, so she bought a car instead. A Mercedes of some sort. She’s another one, with the carbon emissions. The crazy, crazy carbon emissions!  

Suddenly, somewhere else: Experts and sources and sourcesperts and exerces all agree: Lindsay Lohan is a drinky-drinky freak again! (God love her.) Reports are flooding in from every watery corner of the ever-watery tabloid press, and they all insist that Lindsay is swilling hooch from the bottle like a flapper on the lam, and wailing at people like a banshee for no good reason other than she’s Lindsay Lohan, godammit, quit gawking and get out of my way!  

None of us saw this coming. None of us.

Adrian Ryan

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Um. Really. I just don’t know what to say. Except, “Why, God! Why is there no justice in this world! Why can’t the children roam safe and free! WHY!?” maybe. Look:  

“Pop superstar MICHAEL JACKSON has vowed to “surprise” his loyal fans with a host of celebrity collaborations on the remake of his hit album THRILLER. The singer will release a 25th anniversary edition of the 1982 LP later this year. And Jackson has promised a number of big names will feature on the release. He says, “I’m coming back. And I’ve got a very special treat for all of my fans. “I have been recording Thriller: 25th Anniversary, with a lot of surprise guests.”  

Surprise guests! Like no 12 year old boys!  

Yeah, that’s be a surprise. A big mother fuggin surprise.  

Elsewhile: The world went totally insane today as some agency that I’ve never heard of announced that it shall, in all seriousness, award Britney Spears their Best New Album of the Year Award. This, of course, is pointless, as at this point she thinks she’s a lemon. (And where is Madonna in all this? I ask you.) Experts agree that it is all probably just some mad scheme Paris Hilton cooked up to get Britney alone on stage to accept the phony award so she and her pals can dump a bucket of pig’s blood on her head so she’ll snap and make everyone explode with her hellish telekinetic powers. But I think that’s a little too original for Paris Hilton. Who has “man feet”. Or so her uncle says. No kidding. Man feet.  

Um…and how does HE know, exactly? Exactly.  

And Madonna has her own problems. Believe it.  

Anyhoo. 

Adrian Ryan

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Carol Channing. Well. The last time we heard from her, which I bet you thought was the last time we’d ever hear from her without a Ouija Board (me too!), she had risen from the grave to reclaim her stolen dress and to drag the thief screaming to hell. (Believe it.) But, lo! We are hearing from her again somehow (a miracle of modern geriatric medicine!), but her tune is pretty much the same: She’s been robbed…and she’s completely incoherent about it!  

Now, before we proceed, and for the benefit of those few sad souls who are younger than 85 and are not screaming homosexuals, Carol Channing was whatcha call a legend. Old Hollywood. A Star. Today she is a raisin, a puff of dust in a white wig, rather frightening. Still, I’m not saying she’s not fabulous–she is—but that’s just my inner screaming homosexual coming out. Again. Guurl. Whatever. The point is, she’s a famous old broad (famous enough to even have her own Wikipedia entry, I bet! I’m too lazy to look!), and, baby…she attracts crime like a Guatemalan hooker. Last time we checked in, her bazillion-dollar “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” dress had been stolen, and then mysteriously returned. This time, she was held up in a bank, at gun point, in a crowd, just like a scene from a corny old Hollywood movie, which leads me to suspect that the whole thing was a big stupid publicity stunt, and something Tom Cruise would do before a movie release. but what the hell does Carol Channing need publicity for? Her wake? She’s practically transparent.  

Well. If New Kidds on the Block can make a comeback, I guess there’s hope for anyone. Even corpses. Which brings us back to Carol. The story:  

Carol says, “Well, along with a lot of other people, I’ve been robbed, we just bought a new house. It’s really the first house I’ve ever had and not a hotel. This is our house, and they robbed us.”  

Well. That was very confusing, wasn’t it. But considering that humanity didn’t even evolve the gift of language until she was a teenager, she holds her own, I guess.  

Lastly: You know? I just bet Britney Spears did something today. Just, you know….something. Don’t you wonder what it was?  

I don’t.

Adrian Ryan

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Britney. Well, we haven’t heard from her in about 16 seconds, so guess what she did to remedy the lapse? Can you guess? Guess, I say!

If you answered, “Well, she went even crazier, if that’s possible?”, YOU ARE CORRECT, SIR! Or MADAM! Or WHATEVER!

Good for you. But that’s only half the story. She also terrified little children. How? Like this:

Britney Spears caused watcha call a “shitstorm” of terror and kiddy confusion at a Los Angeles school when she allegedly turned up, twitchy, dressed like a whore, and confused as Mel Gibson at a Bar Mitzvah, and insisted she was there to “pick up her kids.” Which would have been illegal, if her kids actually went to that school, which they didn’t. According to a source: “She was just rambling and confused. She said, ‘I’m here to pick up my kids.’ But then she said, ‘They aren’t my kids; I have a new attorney, and I came to pick them up for her.’ All I could think was, ‘Who in their right mind would let her pick up their kids?’” The witness goes on to add that the singer’s chain smoking, skimpy outfit and erratic behavior scared the children, insisting “some of the kids were freaked out.”

The drama ended when she was gently but firmly escorted, as the say, from the premises, whence she drove off, childless and alone, into the crazy, crazy sunset to chase other crazy adventures. The end.

Crazy!

Then, Owen Wilson has done many shocking and terrible things in his life. Cutting his wrists. Overdosing on pills. “You, Me and Dupree.” Not loving me like I deserve to be loved. But of all of the shocking things Owen Wilson has done in his life (which includes bathing in a ditch with Woody Harrelson), buying a big honkin’ bong (whatever that is) earlier this week is not numbered among them. But buy a “bong” (whatever that is) is what he did, or so they say, and he did it in a shop somewhere in Venice, Calif. (wherever that is), or so they also say, and if it is true, which it is, it explains at least “You, Me and Dupree” and the naked with Woody Harrelson in a muddy ditch thing. But who’s complaining? Whatever it takes, man. Whatever. It. Takes.

Then: Madonna and Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have come forward with their bold new plans to adopt each other. “It was only a matter of time before it finally happened,” Madonna said from behind the giant Jackie O sunglasses she’s wearing these days to hide all of the indiscriminate eye-jobbing that has her face looking like rotten carp. “It was inevitable,” agreed Angelina. “We all new deep down that someday it would come to this.” Brad explained how it would work, “I’m adopting Madonna, Madonna is adopting Angie, and Angie is adopting me. Then all of our kids are going to adopt us, then they will adopt each other. We’re confident that this is the right decision for everybody. Adopt, adopt, adopt.”

Lastly: I’m off to dig up Owen Wilson, a nice eighth of ganja (whatever that is) and a bucket of mud. Hold my calls.

Hold ‘em between your knees, like a ham sandwich.

Adrian Ryan

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Have you ever heard of the “Razzie” awards? No. Of course not. Who has. But apparently there are awesome enough to have nominated her not once—not three times (which would have been excessively awesome)–but TWICE for their “Worst Actress” award. Apparently she appeared in a film called, “I Know Who Killed Me” back when she was killing her career, and she was so awful in it, that, well. Two nominations. According to the AP, which usually isn’t quite so bitchy, frankly:

“‘I Know Who Killed Me’ is the most fabulously brainless movie since `Showgirls,’” which Razzie voters picked as the worst movie of the 1990s, Wilson said. “By the end of it, you still don’t know what happened. Are they twins or aren’t they? Did she imagine it? Can I please have my hour and 50 minutes back?”

Whoa. Bitchy!

In, uh, yeah, her: Britney Spears is now denying that she ever porked that photographer she’s been porking–and there are even rumors that she’s taken out a restraining order against him. Although this might seem like some sort of retrn to sanity, no. Now she is claiming–in a British accent— that she doesn’t even now who he is, that she never has met such a person, and has nary the vaguest clue what anyone is talking about. Here is a report from people who apparently know something about it:

“When asked about Adnan, Britney says “I never met the man before.” She does it all in a British accent and then takes off after saying “I love you, men.” Hats off to the pap who asked Britney “What part of England are you from?”

“What part of England are you from?” For that, the paparazzi in general should be given their own national holiday. And a parade maybe. Really.

Adrian Ryan

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