I think Corey Haim reads this blog!

In addition to providing endless entertainment, hard-hitting Brit/Federline reports, innumerable pointless lists and all the Mayhem news you can handle, Stupid & Contagious now furnishes yet another service: help for fat celebrities. Yes, that's right. It appears that Mr. Corey Haim, who I made fun of last week, is going to be a contestant on the next Celebrity Fit Club! This has not been officially confirmed yet, but if/when it is, I will choose to believe that Corey read my mean comments about him and decided to do something about his beluga-like appearance. Good for you, Corey! This is a promising start for our fave Lost Boy on the road to Comeback City. Let's just hope he's not this season's Jeff Conaway/Jani Lane/Daniel Baldwin with the painkiller addiction. In the meantime, I will take full credit for any weight-loss success Corey achieves. And any failures, well, that's his own fault.

Incidentally, Shar Jackson is also rumored to be on the show, which is even more intriguing. Imagine the heart-to-hearts with Dr. Linda about how stressful it is when Dad has the kids for the weekend and returns her daughter wearing a brand-new "Future MILF" T-shirt that Britty-Brit-Brit got her. Or how she binged the time when K-Fed taught the baby how to say, "I'm a muthafuckin baller." Or how she turns to food for comfort when she sees paparazzi pics of Britney leading the kids barefoot into a slimy public bathroom. It's hard for a single mom, especially when your kids were fathered by Pimp Daddy Federfucker.

No matter what, let's hope this news is true. It will be good for the blog.


Overworked: A Bad Plastic Surgery Retrospective

There's something about being a celebrity that makes one think they can pull the wool over the eyes of the public. How many times have we heard someone famous squall about how awful it is to be famous because you are expected to look young and fit, with big boobs, pouty lips and hair extensions down to your ass? Let's pretend for a minute that some of today's most successful and celebrated actors are not necessarily large-chested (Julianne Moore, Naomi Watts), large-lipped (Jennifer Aniston, Nicole Kidman) or large-haired (Halle Berry, Natalie Portman), and that most of the untouchably good are none of the above (Kathy Bates, Jodie Foster, Judi Dench). We know all too well what can happen when celebs think they can fool us into thinking they simply look good for their age when they have actually stuffed, depuffed, shellacked and stretched themselves to create a new shell—less Hollywood starlet, more like those Kooky Spook Halloween headdresses (remember those?).

I don't have to tell you that those that are obsessed are the most fascinating. It's sort of like the circus sideshows of old, except they are bringing the freak on themselves and think they look stunning. Want some examples? Here's a little circus sideshow of our very own, starring some of the worst offenders. You can point and laugh if you want, but a lot of this borders on the very sad. Some people just don't know when to say, "Yep, that's good—one more and I'll look like the Senor Wences hand puppet." Big ups to Awful Plastic Surgery, where I found many of these horrifying pics. It's a great surfing site with tons more scary-looking celebs. Perhaps if more celebs paid a visit to it, we would be seeing a lot less of this:

Pete Burns
This would be the lead singer of Dead or Alive, best known for the '80s classic "You Spin Me." He's had several surgeries, including cheek implants, nose jobs, and, oh yeah, more than a few collagen injections. Obviously, the lip surgery went horribly wrong and Petey endured several reconstructive procedures over a span of 18 months. Fun fact: Pete was married to a chick for 20 years; they divorced in '04.

Steve Erhardt
You may not have heard of this guy unless you watch those delightfully trashy pre-primetime "entertainment magazines." Steve is attempting to transform himself into a living Ken doll, and has had a nose job, chin job (to add a cleft), eye job, pec implants, butt implants and even bicep implants (he was the first person ever to sport gel bags in the upper arms). Too bad he didn't do anything about that hair.

Marilyn (born Peter Robinson) is a good friend of Boy George and was a fixture at Studio 35 during the club's heyday. He's had some kind of fucked-up nose job and appears to have added an odd implant into the tip. He was a good-looking trannie before, with a very nicely shaped nose. A little too much snorting of cocaine off of Andy Warhol's ass, perhaps?

Michaela Romanini
I've never heard of her, either—she's some kind of Italian socialite—but, gads, what is the matter with this woman? Her lips look like they are ready to explode, her forehead is pulled so tight it looks like it might tear open like a Glad Bag, and she appears as if she's gone skinny-dipping in the deep frier at KFC. Lots and lots of work done here. And yet, she can't find the time to pluck her frigging eyebrows.

Mickey Rourke
I vote this the most tragic of the lot. Have you seen "Diner"? Mickey was hellishly hot. Now I don't even know who this lumpy creature is. He looks like David Gest! What a waste.

Loretta Swit
Wow, the mannequin heads in the Montgomery Ward wig department sure look realistic, don't they? Oh, wait, it's just Hotlips Houlihan, looking...well, not so hot. Forget aging gracefully—Loretta has decided that stapling her cheeks behind her head, wearing a really bad hairpiece and getting what looks like a fake chin cleft carved in is the way to go.

Hunter Tylo
You may remember Hunter as the soap chick that sued Aaron Spelling when she got kicked off of "Melrose Place." Besides having one of the fakest stage names in all of Hollywood (iMDb says her real name is Deborah Jo Hunter), she also has one of the fakest faces. As one wordsmith noted on Awful Plastic Surgery, "The guards at Buckingham Palace move more than her face does." You can't see from this picture, but she's also got one of the worst boob jobs in the history of the world. Very sad what this natural beauty has done to herself.

Bree Walker Lampley
I feel a little bad including her here because she has a bona fide disability (ectrodactyly—or fused fingers and toes) that she has used to her advantage in her featured role as Sabina the Scorpion Woman on HBO's "Carnivale", and is really involved in encouraging change in public attitude toward people with disabilities. But what she has done to her face is simply horrifying.

Jocelyn Wildenstein
Bow down, people: it's the Patron Saint of Bad Plastic Surgery herself! She's been called Wildebeast, Bride of Wildenstein, Cat Lady, all of which are appropriate—this is just fucking appalling. She was once very lovely, with a fresh, naturally pretty face. But upon finding her billionaire hubby in bed with a much younger woman, she allegedly spent nearly $2 million on procedures to make herself look like a cat, which she thought would be more appealing. To achieve this, she's gotten several facial implants and lifts to the point where her eyes are almost horizontal, and her head now looks like a lump of modeling clay molded by a first-grader. Here, I think she looks more like one of the Easter Island heads than a cat, but with a rat's nest perched on top of it. You'd think with all that money she'd stop giving herself Toni Home Perms and pay a visit to Oribe every now and again. It seriously doesn't get worse than this. I hope.

Don't make Norway angry...you wouldn't like Norway when it's angry

Seriously, don't piss them off, and don't you dare embarrass them. I saw a report today that they are turning on their own Olympians for the unforgivable sin of winning only two gold medals so far in Torino. Even Estonia has more golds! This has apparantly turned the entire country into a bunch of furiously grumbling Bela Karolis, hell-bent on making these failures pay for such a humiliation to their country.

According to Reuters, Norwegian papers printed the screaming headline "Game Over" on the front page, accompanied by pics of the athletes looking "dispirited, heads down." A skiier who was expected to win the gold was pictured in tears and quoted as saying, "Get me out of this hole." Did she come in last, you ask? Did she crash out and suffer a badly-timed accident during her run? No, she CAME IN SECOND. But silver is just not good enough—send her to the gallows!

Adding to the humiliation, arch-rival and land of the blondies Sweden has earned four gold medals and even beat Norway in that most intense and vexing of "sports", curling. Then they went and rubbed it in with the goody-goody-for-us headline "Sorry Norway! Swedes rejoice over our Olympic fiasco," complete with a splashy spread of the flag and celebrating athletes. Then everyone in the country gathered and sang the Swedish national anthem as they burned effigies of those pathetic Norwegian losers. Who lost to them in curling.

To tell the truth, I'm becoming a little afraid of Norway. Like I'd be afraid to piss them off because they might turn their backs on you for life and shun you like the Amish, or worse, they might sic the black metallers on you or something. And Sweden better watch it with all their in-your-face-Norway taunting. Count Grishnackh might rally his fellow prisoners to break out and lead a modern-day Viking hoarde into Sweden to rape and pillage. I'd be a little hesitant to mess with those guys.

I was looking at some pictures in a "Visit Norway!" guide and it looks really beautiful and charming, with all these little row houses and Stave Churches and smiling children. It's all lies—lies, I tell you!


Does anybody really watch "According to Jim"?

So I was scanning the preview channel today and John "Skunkboy" Henson was blabbering about what's on TV tonight. He's not so bad, but where in the world did they find those inconturable, screeching bitches that do the reality TV talk? Those two make me want to jam corkscrews in my ears.

Anyway, Henson was talking about tonight's wacky episode of "According to Jim", in which Jim tries to help his friend meet women and one of them falls for Jim instead! Ha ha ha! THAT'S HILARIOUS! Man, today's sitcom writers just slay me with their originality. What I mean is I want to slay myself because I'm way funnier on my stupid blog that I write for FREE, for the enjoyment of myself and others, than the assjackers that are making boucoup bucks writing one-liners and "plots" for "According to Jim."

Which raises another burning question: does anyone actually watch "According to Jim"? Because I know quite a few people and none of them watch "According to Jim." Are there really people that clear out their Tuesday night schedules because they don't want to miss the latest episode of "According to Jim"? Has anyone ever standing at a water cooler asked, "Did you see 'According to Jim' last night? It was SO FUNNY!" Are there people that can't miss even one comedy-packed episode, a la "Desperate Housewives" or "Will & Grace", and programs "According to Jim" into their TiVo? Has anyone ever said "Tuesday night? No can do. That's 'According to Jim' night"? Does anyone really buy that someone that looks like Courtney Thorne-Smith would actually marry Jim Belushi, or that he would pick up more chicks than his friend, as on tonight's episode?

I looked it up on iMDb and this show is in its' fifth season! Can you believe that? Fucking "I Love Lucy" ran for five seasons! Now that's just wrong. Is this show so uproariously funny and popular that this is even possible? Perhaps I am wrong and I don't know it all. After all, when "Everybody Loves Raymond" went off the air, people reacted with more emotion than when the Pope died. When the "Raymond" cast appeared on stage together for the "last time" at the Emmys, the crowd was whipped into a frenzy, applauding maniacally, as if the comic geniuses of the century had just come out, and not RAY ROMANO AND PATRICIA HEATON.

Before I continue, I will say that I would be a hypocrite if I didn't mention that I, too, have been addicted to some pretty embarrassing shows. Back in the college days, if anyone called between 8–9 on Wednesday night, they would just get the phone slammed right down on them, dammit, because that's "90210" time! And I AM a bit ashamed to admit that I have seen every single episode of "Flavor of Love." Yes, that's the Flavor Flav dating show. It's on right now. Shut up.

Some futher research on iMDb revealed that the madness doesn't stop there. "Two and a Half Men" and "Hope & Faith" are now in their second seasons. "Yes Dear" and "Becker" both have six years each under their belts. Most horrifying of all, "The King of Queens" is currently in its' EIGHTH SEASON. "The Cosby Show," one of the most beloved comedies of all time, ran for eight years. Kevin James on par with The Cos? I just can't get behind that.

If you regularly watch "According to Jim," would you please explain to those of us who just don't get it what this show has that merits five seasons? Because I'm just mystified. It can't possibly be as good as "Flavor of Love."


Breaking news: Corey Haim ate Corey Feldman!

Recognize this guy? Sure, he looks vaguely familiar. Sort of like how Tom Hanks' brother looks like a distorted Tom Hanks or Patrick Swayze's brother looks like a retarded version of Patrick Swayze. He kind of looks like a really fat, bloated version of Corey Haim.

Surprise—it IS Corey Haim! I bet you can't believe it. Because, really, it looks like someone transplanted Corey Haim's head onto a manatee. Or maybe Hurley on "Lost" is wearing a Corey Haim mask. Or maybe someone painted Corey Haim on the Goodyear Blimp. The point is: Corey Haim is all kinds of huge. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Feldman around much lately...seriously, I'm a little concerned by the severe bloat level Corey seems to be reaching—like it might be getting dangerous.

I feel a little bad making fun of him because he just seems so pitiful and before I decided I was going to marry Duff McKagan, I would have given my hand to Corey. That was back before anyone realized the true scale of his rampant drug usage. It turns out that when he started going downhill (my guess would be around the post-"Dream A Little Dream" era) Corey was finding it harder and harder to get jobs and he started doing all these crappy straight-to-video films, all the while injesting the equivalent of a Drug Mart stockroom in painkillers a day. Soon enough, he had to file bankruptcy and listed among his few assets a 10-year-old BMW, $750 worth of clothes, $7k in residuals and $100 in cash. Ouch.

It gets worse: he got so desperate for money, he famously tried to auction off locks of his hair and a rotten molar that he'd had pulled on the internet. He appeared to be skulking around Santa Monica in a drug-addled haze, stealing slices of pizza and waving a fake gun at people. When his E! True Hollywood Story first aired a couple years ago, Corey was living with his mom in a one-bedroom apartment and spending his time plinking on a little Casio keyboard. He revealed that he was taking 85 Valiums a day plus other assorted pill cocktails. So it's not entirely shocking to find out that he had a drug-induced stroke recently. Apparantly, he is clean and is back in front of the camera for another go in the biz.

Wow, I mean....just...wow. That's one of the child star downfalls to end all child star downfalls, like up there with Mackenzie Phillips, Dana Plato and Scott Schwartz. When your lifestyle is getting to the point where Corey Feldman has to intervene, well, that pretty much says it all. There is nothing the world loves more than a washed-up child star, so let's see if Corey can pull a Drew Barrymore and turn that frown upside down.

In the meantime: good god, man, get ahold of yourself! Lay off the burritos and pull it together. Feldman might not have time for another intervention.

Will somebody just kill Scott Stapp and get it over with?

This week, I read what is perhaps the most disturbing news story I've heard in a year and I'm going to share my pain with you. Brace yourself, because if you haven't heard it already, it will likely induce nausea, nightmares and numbness. This is normal. However, if you experience diarrhea, vomiting and/or seizures, call an ambulance and don't blame me. Are you ready? Here it is:

There exists in this world a Scott Stapp sex tape.

Breathe. Blink. Get your finger out of your throat. There is no turning back now. It's true, and we are just going to have to accept it. But brace yourself again because if that wasn't enough to send you over the edge, this might: the tape also features Kid Rock. And he and Scotty are getting blow jobs from groupies. No, no, don't pass out! Some good tranqs might be just what you need.

Now usually when this happens, I think, "Celebrity sex tape? Yes, please" and head right on over to Limewire for immediate review. I'm not ashamed to admit it; they are insanely entertaining. I mean, have you seen the Paris Hilton tape? Hilarious! The Fred Durst one made me want to pour bleach into my eyes, but the Colin Farrell one made up for it for Colin's quotes alone. And then there is, of course, the Holy Grail of celebrity sex tapes: Pam and Tommy. Does it get any better than Tommy Lee driving a boat and honking the horn WHILE NOT USING HIS HANDS? I submit that it does not.

As an aside, this all makes one wonder why celebrities continue to make sex tapes. Especially when the celebrity in question happens to be the biggest asshat on the planet. Oh, wait, what am I saying? Scott Stapp thinks he is god's gift to mankind, and thus has no problem taping himself and another guy getting waxed by what has to be the most desperate gaggle of groupies ever. It's just too bad for all of us that this shit was unleashed to the public. So, obviously, this is one tape I'm NEVER, ever going to check out, no matter how laughable it might be.

Scott Stapp's level of annoying surpasses even that of Fucker Carlson, author/psychobabbler Iyanla Vanzant and the cast of "Everybody Loves Raymond." His Eddie Vedder-lite behavior, hyper-sanctimonius lyrics, and messiah complex leads one to believe that this guy thinks he actually has hype to buy into. He probably spends his free time trying to tear up fish and bread to feed the starving audiences as he sings such inspiring lyrics as "I spent a day by the river/It was quiet and the wind stood still/I spent some time with nature /To remind me of all that's real." Whoa, that just blew my mind. God, has this shitbag ever written a song that doesn't contain the word "me"?

If he thinks he is headed for sainthood, he's right, because he has achieved well above the three required miracles needed to obtain that honor. Well, if by "miracle" you actually mean "behaving like a flaming asshole." The sheer number of asinine things this guy has done is a miracle in itself.

Miracle #1: In 2001, he punched a guy in a bar for "disrespecting" him by saying that he is "not a superstar" and that Pearl Jam is better. He also got into a fight with 311 and tried to hit on their girlfriends.

Miracle #2: He named his son Jagger.

Miracle #3: He got married last week and a mere one day later was arrested at an airport for being drunk and belligerant. He blew twice the legal limit on the breathalizer.

It's official: Scott is the Patron Saint of Douchebags! He's the kind of guy who acts like he's all godly and spiritual and self-righteous, but then runs around to strip clubs with copies of his CDs in the hopes that they'll play "My Own Prison" for the feature dance. Come to think of it, "my own prison" is being subjected to him.

So the moral of the story is this: if you are a celebrity, do not make a sex tape. And if you are Scott Stapp, do not do anything. Ever again. Because you suck.


My top 10 fave album covers of the last 15 years

Let's take a break from all the black metal madness, shall we, and pay tribute to a sadly oft-neglected area of music—album cover art! I fear this is becoming a lost medium. Back in the day, when people still actually listened to albums, cover art seemed to be more important. Of late, album covers mainly feature cheap T&A and bling shots, over-designed logos, over-Photoshopped images and ugly pictures of the band. This is BAD. Because there are so few classic covers that have come out in the last 15 years, I've decided to make a list of the ones that caught my critical eye and didn't make me wish for the days of Sgt. Pepper and Houses of the Holy even more. Let's see how pretentious I can sound!

10. Renegades—Rage Against the Machine
Rage is one of those bands that never has a bad cover. First we had the burning monk, then the super-hero white boy and the graffiti "power to the people" guy. Now we have a brilliant send-up of that annoying "LOVE" stamp that everyone was slobbering over in the early '70s. Here, Rage has not only managed to create yet another great album art composition, they also succeeded in desecrating an American cultural icon. It's kind of like they shit on a box filled with Precious Moments figurines.

9. f#a#(infinity symbol)—Godspeed You Black Emperor
Good-bad photography goes a long way, and this cover art proves it. You're not sure what it is or what it all means, but this dark, blurry image immediately evokes some kind of feeling. It's art, man. Also notable here is the fact there there are no words on this cover—bands often go overboard with crappy fonts and too-long titles that overwhelm the album art and tack it way up. Even though this band has one of the best names ever, they left it off the cover and the result is subtle, but still impactful.

8. Angel Dust—Faith No More
Actually, this one would probably appear on my list for best covers of all time. Faith No More's first album had a cover that was just so early '90s...ooh, it's a drop of water with FLAMES coming out of it! This cover is the exact opposite of that cover and, hence, atypical of their stinky, smutty, alcoholic rock-boy persona. The swan image is kind of sad and trippy all at once. This is also a rare example of good font and title usage.

7. Deep Shadows & Brilliant Highlights—H.I.M.
Ville Valo is probably the most photogenic person on earth, not to mention the prettiest boy I've ever seen. Me and Lola want to kidnap him and make him our houseboy. And that has absolutely NOTHING to do with why I chose this cover as my lucky number 7. Nope, nothing at all.

Well, it IS a cool picture, right?

6. Rid Of Me—P.J. Harvey
P.J. is just so fucking cool and sexy and she has the most interesting-looking face. This picture is just so HER.

5. Get Behind Me Satan—The White Stripes
This cover art is not the opening of any new territory for the Stripes, but this look illustrates the bluegrass-y edge to this album really well. I like how rich the reds are and how Jack's work with Loretta Lynn seems to have influenced this cover, as well as the music on the album. Meg looks a bit like a young Loretta Lynn here, but Jack looks eerily like Korn's lead singer before he got all bloated. Must have been the fallout from his breakup with Bridget Jones.

4. The Libertines—The Libertines
Pete Doherty and Carl Barat are the kind of guys dads everywhere fear their daughters will go out with and they are really looking the part on this cover. In fact, they're kinda looking a little like modern-day Sex Pistols here. God save the waifish Brit supermodels. It's just a good, dirty picture of bad, dirty British boys.

3. White Pony—The Deftones
The Deftones went from the typical alt. metal odd-shot-of-a-sweaty-chick's-cleavage on their first album to this very simple outline of a galloping horsey. Again, no words here to junk it up. The basic gray and white colors diffrentiate from the usual black or uber-solar-flareout color found on alt. metal album covers—unexpected and impactful. Hey, remember that song "if you wanna ride...ride the white pony"? Nevermind...

2. R—Queens Of The Stone Age
Remember when you were a kid and you went to the movies and all the previews showed the ratings like this and then there was that General Cinema trailor where the GC logo ate up film like it was a projector? Or am I a raving lunatic that just made all that up? Anyway, oh my god, this album cover TOTALLY reminded me of all that from when I was little and going to the movies with my folks (probably to see one of the Muppet movies). It's an awesome homage to a small piece of Gen X childhood and simply a great idea.

1. I Get Wet—Andrew W.K.
This is my very favorite cover from the last 15 years. It's simple, it's straightforward, it's kind of gross and it's kind of awesome all at the same time. This CD is perfect to casually leave on your desk at work to make all the annoying Longaberger salesladies at your job go, "Eww!" and avoid you. You'll never get an invitation to a basket party again! It's also very fitting for Andrew W.K.'s party-metal style—'cause even though you like him (and admit it, you kind of do), you still want to punch him in the fucking face. What other album cover gives you the pleasure of seeing the aftermath of someone kicking the ass of the annoying singer? Because of it, I kind of like him more.

So...what are yours?


Happy Norwegian Black Metal Day!

It's Feb. 14th again, and you know what that means: it's Norwegian Black Metal Day! It's that special day when we get to pay tribute to the biggest fucking freaks in all of music.

Celebrating is simple. First, choose the black metal name that you will only answer to for the rest of the day. Use the following formulas to help you pick the perfect, wicked moniker:

• Royal title + medieval torture device (Lord Cat-o-nine-tails, King Guillotine, Countess Catherine Wheel, etc.)
• Hell/devil/Nordic god synonym prefix + evil synonym suffix (Scheol the Sinister, Lucifiend, Odinfernal)
• Evil/devil/Nordic god synonym – correct spelling + a few extra vowels (Diaboliik, Vishhiss, Baazerker)

What do all these formulas equal? Super-fucking evil names, that's what!

After you've chosen your new unholy name, simply walk around acting evil all day. This will be fun! You can speak in a creepy voice, make cryptic references to icy black smog and the sons of northern darkness, and eat large pieces of meat with only your hands. Hiss and cringe when any known church-goers pass by you. If people question your weirdness, reply mysteriously, "The blizzard beasts recant your idols by the power of diabolical full-moon mysticism." Really dig into your gut for this one. The goal is to ruin the day for as many people as possible.

Costumes are optional, but encouraged. Corpse face paint, black cloaks and scary props such as sythes, bayonets and large animal bones are all perfect image-boosters. There's no better time to wear that chain-mail tunic or those spiked knee pads you bought a few years ago! But even if you don't dress up, the evil act is the most important part.

Let's all band together and enjoy making February 14, 2006, the most satan-tastic day ever!


Mayhem isn't the only band of Scando crazies

I always envisioned Norway as being this happy little fjord-filled land full of pretty people listening to A-Ha and where winter lasts for 11.75 months. Reading the book "Lords of Chaos:The Bloody Rise of the Satanic Metal Underground" has officially killed that view. Now I imagine Norway as being a cold, bleak land filled with pale, pale people wearing black cloaks sitting around in vandalized cemeteries, surrounded by animal entrails, and eating popsicles made of their own blood.

In my ongoing morbid obsession with Mayhem, I've uncovered yet another band that might give them a run for their money in the batshit crazy department: Emperor. All but one member of the band is in prison, the most infamous being drummer Bard "Faust" Eithun, who stabbed and killed a random gay guy who picked him up in Lillehammer the year the Olympics were held there. Immediately after the murder, Faust joined his partner-in-crime—guess who: Count Grishnackh!— for a little bible-burning and church descecration male bonding session. He wasn't charged with murder until a year later, while the Euronymous killing was being investigated. Surprise! Faust, who worked at Euronymous's record store Helvete, was also discovered as a cold-blooded killer and eventually earned a 14-year-sentence for the crime. He seems to be out and wondering among the masses as we speak.

But even Mayhem and Emperor don't hold a candle to these freaks: Immortal. The crimes these two have waged against fashion, music and any kind of pleasing aesthetic are worse than anything the Count and Faust could even dream of committing. Just look at them; they are wearing spiked shin guards! And are those "creatures of the night" poses supposed to be intimidating? They look like gothic frogs. The music is just as flummoxing. I listened to one of their songs and they even SOUND like gothic frogs. I couldn't make out the words that were being croaked out amid the ripping guitar riffs, but I think the name of the song pretty much says it all: "Grim and Frostbitten Kingdom." Come to think of it, maybe that is a more appropriate name for that gothic land we know as Norway.

Here's a little added bonus fun: wanna find out which black metaller you are? Take this super-fun quiz! I am Vidar Vaaer of Ildjarn. I have no idea what that entails, but the explaination said: "There is no one in the world as desolate as you. You are one with nature, you love animals and you hope for the rest of humanity to die. And you have good reasons to." Again, that pretty much says it all.


Who's gonna drive you home...tonight?

Oh, look—how cute! Britney is teaching Sean Preston how to drive! This is the best idea her little pea brain has cranked out yet. You never know when K-Fed might smoke a few too many spliffs during some father-son bonding time and need a DD for the ride home.

Seriously, you know I'm loving this. Little Bitty Brit-Brit was terrified of the evil paparazzi and was forced to drive off with a four-month-old baby IN HER LAP WITH NO FUCKING SEAT BELT ON. Her hulking, 800-pound bodyguard there in the passenger seat is safer than SP is. According to E!Online, "since 2002, California law has required that all children younger than 6 or weighing fewer than 60 pounds be secured in cars by either safety seats or booster seats." So, Britney, that means your crates of Red Bull, economy-size bags of Cheetos, cartons of Luckys, K-Fed's stash...oh, and that googly-eyed creature that your staff has been cleaning and feeding for the last few months. No, honey, not the dog.

That article also says that California Child & Family Services paid a visit to the Clampetts', hopefully to issue a citation for child endangerment. It would be so awesome if they took the baby away from Britney and awarded custody to one of her nannies. Then again, if this is the same child services that "helped" Michael Jackson's kids, I'm sure all we will see of it is a few "statements" from various PR lackeys, a spoof on Jay Leno and a new single from K-Fed to make us forget.

In all seriousness, if she was in such alleged danger and had to slam on her brakes, the baby would be dead. She's a stupid, selfish unfit parent and she's got a lot of nerve releasing a statement blaming the photogs. So due to this incident, I hearby announce a new foundation: the SAVE SEAN PRESTON fund! Let's get that baby out of there and safe into the arms of Angelina and Brad. At least then SP will not have to worry so much about stepping on broken ice pipes or being mauled by little yappy dogs.


The Official Stupid & Contagious V-day Planning Guide

Ah, Valentine's Day. Can you believe it's only one week away? It sure has a way of sneaking up on you, doesn't it? Sort of like genital warts.

It can be a real pain in the ass to plan a successful romantic evening for the big day. You have to make reservations days in advance, traffic is a bitch, candy is fattening, flowers die, diamonds finance terrorists. Honestly, you just don't want to be any part of that. The good news is that you only need to follow five simple steps to have yourself an Official Stupid & Contagious Valentine's Day. Read below, enjoy yourself and remember: cupid rhymes with stupid!

Step 1: Send a card with a lovely sentiment. Like these, for example:
• "Destined to die alone in a room heavy with the tang of cat whee"
• "Uprooted, overpriced plantlife and fat-saturated, caffeine and sugar blocks? You shouldn't have!"
• "Happy unimaginative, consumerist-oriented and entirely arbitrary, manipulative and shallow interpretation of romance day!"

Step 2: Rent a movie. Try one of the following touching love stories:
• Breaking the Waves
• In the Company of Men
• Sid & Nancy
• Heavenly Creatures
• Dogville
• Spanking the Monkey

Step 3: Go for a jog. See how many times you can run between hand-holding couples and break them apart, red rover-style. It's fun!

Step 4: Make a Valentine's Day soundtrack. Here's your playlist:
• "Used To Love Her (But I Had To Kill Her)", Guns N' Roses
• "My Gift to You", Korn
• "Angel of Death", Slayer
• "Love Will Tear Us Apart", Joy Division
• "Violent Mood Swings", Stabbing Westward
• "Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't Have Fallen In Love With)", The Buzzcocks
• "Milk It", Nirvana
• "Wicked World", Black Sabbath
• "Piggy", Nine Inch Nails
• "Rock Star", Hole
• "Wake Up Dead", Megadeth
• And a song of your choice by Mayhem (may I recommend "Chainsaw Gutsfuck", "Necrolust" or "Slaughter of Dreams" based on title alone)

Step 5: Spread some holiday cheer by reminding everyone in your path that St. Valentine was killed for allowing people to get married. The over-50-percent divorce rate and the billion-dollar racket that we vomit our hard-earned money into every year must have that poor old priest spinning in his grave. You don't want to contribute to the desecration of a saint now, do you? I didn't think so!


When rock stars go ape shit

I'm delighted to report that I finally found my copy of Q Magazine's "When Rock Stars Go Crazy" issue. I thought I had lost it, but it turns out it was just buried underneath a pile of crap in my closet. Who knows what else is entombed in there—perhaps some money or good meds. Maybe I should check it out. Anyway, I thought all two or three of you might enjoy some more stories of rockin' debauchery straight from the Brits. And, yes, in case you were wondering the Euronymous murder slid in at number three, after Michael Jackson's wacked-out HIStory promotion and—what else?—Rick Wakeman's staging of "King Arthur" on ice. Rock.

• Chris Farlowe was a Londoner who boasted several R&B hits under his belt in the '60s and '70s, including a popular cover of the Stones' "Out of Time", and could have been Rod Stewart before Rod Stewart became Rod Stewart. But you've probably never even heard of him and here's the reason why: in '72 he quit the music biz altogether to open a collectables shop and trade business called Regimentals. What did he collect and trade, you ask? Why, nazi memorabilia, of course! After all, it's the logical route for a former R&B singer, right?

• Pete de Freitas, late drummer for Echo & the Bunnymen, once went on a bender so hardcore he claimed to have not slept for 18 straight days, besting even quintessential binger Keith Richards. Petey later said of the incident, "Looking back, I think I went a bit mad in the head."

• Jimmy Page is a pure genius. And as we all know from reading this website, along with genius often comes a whole lotta crazy. Jimmy was famously into black magic and became more than a little obsessed with notorious occultist Aleister Crowley, going as far as to buy Boleskine House, Crowley's mansion o' evil located on the mystical shores of Loch Ness. What went on there is anyone's guess, but the lunacy is said to include regular rituals complete with blood drinking, living groupie altars and veritable shitstorm of drug use. Jimmy's also a Crowley collector and is the proud owner of the largest collection of Crowley's books in the world. Witchy genius, he is.

• Damn, it feels good to be a gangster with one eye that was blasted out by a girlfriend after she followed your instructions to shoot you in the head. In 1991, diminutive Geto Boy Bushwick Bill downed a bottle of 190-proof Everclear, then got all suicidal and told his girlfriend to shoot him in the head. She did, but only succeeded in maiming his right eye. Wanna see it? Check out the cover of their "We Can't Be Stopped" album, which features Bushwick being rolled through the hospital with the shredded, bloody remnant of his eyeball on full display for the world to see.

• It's all good fun at Dennis Wilson's house until Manson shows up and starts spreading cooties all over the place. The "squeaky-clean" Beach Boy became so taken with the crazy-eyed cult leader that he invited him to move into his house in the late '60s. Wilson's wife didn't like that too much and started covering toilet seats around the house so the kids wouldn't get some dirty hippie disease. But she just didn't get it—Manson was not a delusional mental patient so much as he was a misunderstood genius. The Manson-penned tune "Cease To Exist" appears on the Beach Boys' 20/20 album, no doubt an ode to that crazy summer he spent at Denny's house.


More stupid than contagious

I had about ten things I wanted to write about and couldn't decide what to post, so I decided to just type up a little grab bag of news. Here you go...enjoy. I guess.

• The big news this week is the revelation that Jodie Sweetin, who played the precocious (read: fucking annoying as shit) middle daughter Stephanie Tanner on "Full House" was a crackhead for two years, while she was married to a cop no less, and is now clean and looking for work. Apparantly, an intervention was held by her "Full House" castmates, and I'm trying to imagine what THAT was like. I mean, what is an intervention featuring the Olsen twins, Bob Sagat and Dave Coulier like? I don't even know what to say about that, except I WANT TO KNOW MORE and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

• In other stupid news, Britney might be pregnant again. She's sick of Sean Preson already? Or else he wasn't enough to make Federline want to stay home? Either way, if there is any kind of otherworldly higher power, there will not be another baby produced from a Britney Spears/Kevin Federline coupling. Do you hear me, god(des)? There will NOT.

• It's funniest on "COPS" when someone is arrested without their shirt on.

• Because I'm sure the two people that read this blog are dying to know what Mayhem did to get banned from both Indonesia and Malaysia, I conducted extensive research to get answers to this burning question. Good news. You all can sleep tonight because I finally found an answer. In what is probably the most surprising thing you've heard in the last five seconds, the reason for the ban is "unacceptable values" and promotion of "satanic worship and drug use." Somebody known has "Wong Kam Hoong" has vowed to not let our favorite merry band of badasses anywhere near the city limits of Kuala Lumpur. So there you go.

• After that big let-down, you might be even more disappointed to find out that ex-Mayhem vocalist Maniac was the subject of one of the (other) Top 10 Most Ridiculous Black Metal Pics of All Time for this way-cute picture. Here's the hilarious assessment of the offending photo by Mike of Hobart from Ruthless Reviews: Maniac slides into #4 for two obvious reasons: (1) His new pseudo-mullet hairdo is anything but metal; he looks older than my fucking dad. (2) That Shredder-style, spiked armguard with a pig’s head impaled on it might be the lamest black metal prop ever. Did he do the entire show with that on his hand? Looks pretty cumbersome to me. Anyway, how about the necrobestialerotic faces he’s making? I like the way he kicks out his hip in the first pic, showing off for the cameraman who is surely beating his cock raw to all of this. I mean, is that supposed to be sexy? Or tough? Or unholy and grim and inverted? Also, nice pants asshole. Old Navy was having a sale?

Ha! If you can't get the link to work, Google it, 'cause there's plenty more good stuff where that came from.