There seems to be a mysterious smell wafting from the kitchen of my home. I think it might be a rotten banana. At least I hope that's what it is. It's like the Mojave in this place, and not in a good way. Let's just say that whatever it is was just seeing a mirage and succombed to natural dehydration and lack of breatheable air. Before the same happens to me, I'd like to get a few newsy tidbits out to you, none of which I will be proud to say may be the last items I report.• Recognize that deer-in-the-headlights expression above? It's worn by Jennifer Wilbanks, the so-called "runaway bride". Who can forget her wacky little disappearance that turned out to be a racist, costly, and generally annoying hoax and she had actually consciously ran away from her impending 600-guest, 14-attendant wedding? You may also know that she and her sketchy fiancee are no longer together and that she sold her "story" that will most likely result in a NYT bestseller or some Lifetime Moment of Truth movie. Apparantly she's now suing her sketchy ex. What's that? You don't care? Yeah, I really don't either. Honestly, I was just looking for an excuse to post her mug shot. So here it is! Don't look directly into her eyes—just take my word for it.
Now on to the big scoop...
• If you thought my last report of a celeb sex tape was a libido killer, wait until you hear this: Federfucker is allegedly dangling a homemade porno tape before his estranged wife's disbelieving eyes and threatening to priority mail it to the tabs if she doesn't meet his divorce settlement demands. If there was ever a shred of possibility that Brit had any gray matter at all in that little head of hers, this should squelch it. WHAT AN IDIOT! It's simple math: sex tape = lifelong humiliation. There's no potential in that equation. You record sex, it WILL end up in the hands of someone who was not there. And if you're Britney Spears and you're shooting homemade porn with an unemployed "dancer"/deadbeat dad...it's official: she is the biggest fucking idiot on the planet. I'll admit it: on my BritFed divorce survey I answered "a" on number 3. That's right: Kevin Federline is kind of my hero. Seriously, you'd TOTALLY do the same thing—don't lie! If this whole sex tape thing is true (and I'm betting it is based on all the videotaping they did for that stupid show of theirs), I might even have MORE respect for the guy because he was obviously planning for his future. On top of it all, he's given the no-life public, such as myself, the gift that keeps on giving. Don't run out and by stock in GlaxoSmithKline...I'm talking about a super-juicy celeb divorce. Let the games begin!
• Need a moment of zen? Here you go: Jacko got a blowout. That's it. Too much freakiness for one day. That smell is less disturbing.
1 comment:
Did you let Brian Brian play in your kitchen?
Can you tell me about Brian Brain?
Yes, it was early punk/anarchic performance art meets disco madness. The show was 22 minutes long. I had all the drum parts on tape, so I could sing and jump around on stage. We drank cases of brandy and beer every night, and did lots of speed. There were three of us in the group. I still have a bill for the removal of banana pulp. One night we got sick of waiting for the audience to applaud, so we started pelting them with bananas. We didn't anticipate that they would throw them back, and it turned into a big banana fight. It was wild. Five years after that show, people still smelled bananas. There was still banana pulp in the light fixtures.
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