I can now die happy

I have seen Jane's Addiction, original lineup, in concert. And it could not have been more badass.

I saw the show two nights in a row. Does that officially make me a groupie? I think I saw a few real groupies...you can always tell because they wear stilettos to concerts.

Anyway, I'm in a bit of a daze so this post is going to be about as gushy fangirl as I'm going to get around here. The first night Jane's played on their own and the second night they played with Nine Inch Nails (who were kickass, as usual). We got trapped in the rain both nights. We also saw a guy in some kind of a bear mascot costume waiting sadly under an overpass until the rain stopped, which really put the sprinkles on top of the entire delicious cupcake of an evening.

Jane's stuck to the old stuff. None of this Entourage theme song business. They kicked both sets off with "Three Days." We also had the pleasure of hearing:

"Ain't No Right"
"Whores"
"Then She Did"
"Ted, Just Admit It..."
"Up The Beach"
"Pigs In Zen"
"Mountain Song"
"Had A Dad"
"Been Caught Stealing"
"Ocean Size"
"1%"

Encore:
"Summertime Rolls"
"Stop!"
"Jane Says"

I of course turned into this jumpy, screamy, whirling freakshow who knew all the words. I even shed little tear when they played "Summertime Rolls", which is my favorite song of all time. I think I was really annoying my neighbors.

Perry Farrell is 50 years old, if you can believe that. His stage style is this blend of Freddy Mercury, the Pied Piper of Hamelin, a ringmaster and a pole dancer. He said weird things to the crowd and strutted around all cock-of-the-walk style. He sounded amazing.

I made a bet with my concertmates as to how long it would take before Navarro was shirtless on stage. He came out wearing a useless vest both nights, which was gone by the third song. Oh, Dave...such a media whore! But he wailed and swaggered like he really meant it. Since he divorced Carmen and stopped doing reality TV (for now), I forgive him.

Stephen Perkins is officially the most underrated drummer in rock. He's simply awesome. And he drummed in his underpants, before donning a sweet Utilikilt.

Of course, Eric's return made the whole night for me. I believe that if you're simply using a bass player to back up the bass drum, you shouldn't have one. Too often bass players are relegated to the job of making the song a little bit heavier by plinking out the base E-A-G and then drinking all the band's beer at practice. Bass lines can make the songs and Eric's bass lines make the songs. For a good example, listen to "Then She Did." Listen to the whole song! If you're too lazy, "Been Caught Stealing" is another good example.

Anyway, when the encore ended I noticed Eric sitting on stage just staring at the crowd and seemingly really incredulous about the whole experience. Despite all the band differences in the past, it was good to see that he seemed to be having a great time.

I'm sure music critics everywhere (not naming names on the Cowtown ones, but anyone who lives here knows who I'm talking about) are hunting for things to nitpick about the show, but my official last word on everything is that it was perfect. A rabid Jane's fan could not have asked for anything more.

Thank you, boys.

P.S. For your enjoyment, here is a very good interview with Eric that gives you a good overview of what he's all about.



P.P.S. Per my last post, I was wrong. Apparently the Lakers rule and the Cavs drool. I admit defeat. But I don't like it.

Life and other bullshit

Sorry for the lack of posts of late. Work has been kicking my ass and it's NBA playoff time. Plus, I'm lazy. Anyway, this weekend I will be seeing Jane's Addiction TWICE. That's right...two nights in a row, no less! You can expect a full review with all the juicy dees, so you'll have that to look forward to next week. Be sure to get a good night's sleep!

Cavs rule, Lakers drool!

The poop nazi

Just when you thought GOOP/STOOP was the stupidest blog on the internets, along comes something that makes Gwynnie look like a paragon of logic and reason. Yes, there is officially an even dumber "lifestyle newsletter" that will force little miss Paltrow work that much harder win the Stupid & Contagious Most Crushing Online Idiocy™ award.

Who is the person responsible for this monumental feat? Why it's Jenny McCarthy, former Playboy Playmate and MTV shill- turned-antivaccine kooktard! Oprah, who has already shoved Dr. Phil and Ekhart Tolle down our throats, has decided it would be a great idea to give Jenny a blog and a talk show of her own, thereby giving her more mediums to peddle her "save measles, polio and rubella from extinction" propaganda.

Before I make fun of her blog, it should be noted that Jenny, who became famous by picking her nose and eating her own vomit on television, and her boyfriend Jim Carrey are currently the spokesbimbos of a movement of SUV-driving soccer parents that believe childhood vaccines cause autism. Before Jenny's son Evan was diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum, she believed he was a psychic crystal child who was part of an emerging group of "human angels."

Seriously.

After he was diagnosed, she dropped the crystal child schtick and started putting him through all sorts of crazy diets and alternative therapies, including chelation metal detox, which is extremely dangerous, toxic and potentially fatal.

SERIOUSLY.

She also recently said this to TIME magazine:

I do believe sadly it's going to take some diseases coming back to realize that we need to change and develop vaccines that are safe. If the vaccine companies are not listening to us, it's their fucking fault that the diseases are coming back. They're making a product that's shit. If you give us a safe vaccine, we'll use it. ... If you ask a parent of an autistic child if they want the measles or the autism, we will stand in line for the fucking measles.

In other words, she believes this is acceptable. So, you know, she's exactly the kind of person you'd want to be taking health and diet advice from! Thanks, Oprah!

The Jenny show thankfully hasn't started yet, but she's full speed ahead on her ridiculous blog already. If she wasn't so fucking annoying and adamant about spreading dangerous pseudoscience, I'd almost feel sorry for her, as the poor thing's brain seems to have stopped growing around age five. She writes like she's been on a five-day Adderall bender. Behold a few words of wisdom from the brain trust that is Jenny McCarthy (all sic):

I also found some corn flakes that were fruit-juice sweetened. It's amazing how much you could find when you actually look.

You know those charity chocolate bars that school girls sell for $1? Well, I bought $500 of them! I wonder if I'm gonna detox.

Part of letting go of something sweet makes me feel like I have nothing sweet in my life. Yes, I can look at my beautiful child and awesome husband (yes, I call him that) and know that I have sweetness living with me, but I can't necessarily have them as dessert. Aren't there any chocolate puddings that are sweetened with fruit juice? Can't Willy Wonka himself ring my doorbell right now and say, "Here is the super-dooper-choco-delicious-non-dairy-sugar-free-fruit-juice-sweetened-candy bar" and save me from my PMS/no-sugar blues? Hmmm.

I told Jim the government doesn't need to have spies to find where you are. They can just Twitter you. LOL!

At least I got smart and taught myself to stay away from what I call "the devil" (what most people refer to as high-fructose corn syrup). I would like to get Evan completely off sugar too. God, I hope he doesn't hate me someday! LOL. After all, I've written six books about him so far. You know, as soon as he turns 16, I am sure he is going to write one called, "Mom, Leave Me Alone!" LOL!

Is LOL totally out and hahaha in? I just dunno.

If that didn't make you LOL or POTK (puke on the keyboard), then wait until you hear about this crazy diet she's on! Because Jenny is into all manner of spiritual/holistic gobbledegook, she's urging the readers of her page to join her in a special "Give It Up By Summer" purge. What's she giving up?
• wheat
• dairy
• refined sugar
• caffeine
• alcohol
• smoking
• yeast

Add to that list: fun, enjoyment, pleasure, excitement and anything interesting to talk about. You know people who diet like this have nothing to talk about except their diet, whether it's to bitch about it or get all self-righteous about it. Jenny is in the second group. She thinks she's on to something that "doctors" and "nutritionists" and "people with more than two brain cells to rub together" can't figure out.

She's so into it that she devotes an entire post to complaining about how airport security wouldn't let her take her sugar-free strawberry jelly on the plane. She even took a picture of the jelly jar, which she refers to as "the last photo of my dear friend", before the security fascists made her throw it in the trash. This seriously seems to have ruined her entire day. I guess she must have missed the giant signs plastered over every inch of the airport and loud announcements every 30 seconds about how you're not allowed to take liquids of more than 3 oz. on board. Jelly is a liquid, Jenny. Or she just didn't care and assumed that because she's a STAH she can do whatever she wants. Bitch!

Most of her posts center around her diet and how hard it is and other tired, overdone, "sigh, it's so hard being a woman!" blathering. "I hate clothes shopping!" "I found a gray hair!" "I miss chocolate!" She obviously gets blog topic ideas from Cathy cartoons.

But the saddest part (so far) is the post she did about poop. Not surprising that Jenny McCarthy would discuss poop, right? But this post is enough to make you demand CPS moves in and gets Evan out of that crazy house as soon as humanly possible. Here's why:

I continuously monitor Evan's poop by sending it to labs to get tested to make sure things are all running smoothly (no yeast, no bacteria, no infections). Sometimes these things can exist without any physical manifestations, so I like to test for them to make sure he is in perfect health.

She continually monitors Evan's poop and SENDS IT TO LABS FOR TESTING??? The kid is seven years old—old enough that his little friends are going to find out and kick his ass to the point where no hyperbaric chamber can help him. I'm sorry, but this is child abuse. Jenny McCarthy is a monster!

And it gets worse. After sending her own shit off for a lab test, she became even more convinced that her entire family's bodies are loaded with crud.

Low and behold, my tests came back and I'm a mess! I have two gnarly gut bugs, and I have extremely high amounts of yeast in my gut. So, I started myself on an antifungal, and my poops have been phenomenal! Yeast, yeast, yeast, all coming out!

Can you imagine her staring out the window waiting nervously for the mailman to deliver her lab tests? And her mouth dropping open with horror when she discovers she's spilling over with yeast? And now, after taking an "antifungal" (like what, Lotrimin?), her shits can only be described as phenomenal? And did she say gnarly?

Her preoccupation with poop is psychotic. I looked it up (and you shouldn't because some really weird shit—literally—came up) and she is a copromaniac! I already knew Oprah was a kook magnet, but this is beyond ridiculous. Jenny McCarthy must be stopped! Every time you see her, take her sugar-free jelly away...it's like kryptonite! Then, bombard her from every angle with sugary snacks, cigarettes and anything yeasty. Don't stop until she promises to say she loves vaccines!

She and Gwyneth should get together and talk about their favorite cleanses and how to suck the joy, fun and excitement out of
every meal, conversation and aspect of life they can think of. And maybe Jenny can recruit Gwyneth to join her crusade to kill kids. It'll be fun!

Speaking of Paltrow, this week in STOOP, Gwynnie and a lineup of "super cool music experts" like Samantha Ronson, DJ AM and Guy Oseary choose their favorite "party jams." I guess it all depends on what kind of party you want to throw and how much of Madonna's ass you want to kiss. Some of the choices are pretty good and others are...huh? "1979"? "How Soon Is Now"??? Coldplay????? (Guess who picked that one.)

The best part is Gwyneth's painful attempts at sounding cool. She urges readers to get their "mother lovin' dance shoes on." She praises DJ AM's "wicked remixes". Of Gabe Tesoriero of Def Jam, she declares, "his iPod always makes it happen." And of herself, she says, "Gwyneth Paltrow is not a music expert but is an avid listener and knows how to get down." You know, I'm pretty confident that's not true. I could be wrong, but using context clues has served me pretty well in the past.

Also, I'm dying to get in on the action. Here are a few "party jams" for Gwyneth:
"Galang" — M.I.A.
"Galvanize" — The Chemical Brothers
"You Can't Do That To Me" — The Ettes
"Sour Cherry" — The Kills
"Dying In A Nightmare" — Ocean Ghosts
"Little Bitch" — The Specials
"Got To Give It Up" — Marvin Gaye
"Spitfire" — The Prodigy
"Have Love Will Travel" — The Sonics
"Peter Piper" — Run-D.M.C.

Important request

Today is the National Day of Prayer. It is also my birthday. Please stop praying, as my petty birthday wishes are being ignored. I want a record player, a trip to Belgium and the Netherlands and a real Guns N' Roses reunion.

That is all.

Welcome to the dollhouse

Oh, goody! It's my most favorite time of year! Time for People mag to put out their annual 50 Most Beautiful People issue! With all this depressing talk about job loss and foreclosure and swine flu, we need more images of attractive people to make us feel better. Enough with ugly people like Susan Boyle. (By the way, can you believe someone that looks like that has a talent? It's sort of like when Quasimodo came down from the bell tower to perform in the Festival of Fools...she's the Fools' Pope!)

OK, seriously...this shit is very timely because I'm mystified at all the rage over Susan Boyle. People are acting as if she's the most hideous person to ever walk the face of the earth. It's so ridiculous. I saw an article that said everyone loves Susan because she's proof that dreams can come true. Well, imagine that! It's as if she was deserving of an appearance-based ritual killing, like a Tanzanian albino. But then she sang, and proved to the world that she deserves to live. Hey, kids, dreams DO come true! Just less often for people who don't look like Frieda Pinto.

"It's what's on the inside that counts!" That feel-good message that's been trumpeted through the treetops to brokenhearted youngsters for ages is the biggest lie ever told. Susan Boyle's a great singer and seems like a very nice lady...but everyone's still just talking about how she looks. Kathy Bates is a fantastic Oscar-winning actress. So is Penelope Cruz. And all you hear about are their looks. Hillary Clinton, Sarah Palin, Nancy Pelosi...name any woman in politics and you probably know more about what they look like than the minutiae of their careers. Hillary has cankles—off with her head!

The Most Beautiful issue always sets me off. It makes me feel like Dawn Weiner. It's like People magazine barged in on me in a bathroom stall and I cry, "Why do you hate me, People?" and People responds, "Because you're ugly."

Naturally, we have the requisite breathless "Beauty at any age!" write-up. The People website actually says "Vanessa! Halle! Christie! These gorgeous gals prove that true beauty is timeless!" Why just look at Eva Mendes, age 35. "I'm not at all ashamed or frightened about showing my body," Eva tells People. She's so brave...an elderly gal like her posing nude! And how about Halle Berry, who is 42? "Sexiness is a state of mind—a comfortable state of being," she opines. "It's about loving yourself in your most unlovable moments." Wow, thanks, Halle! I'm sure being deemed one of People's 50 Most Beautiful every single year keeps you from committing suicide whenever you get a zit.

My personal favorite magazine feature is "Stars: They're just like us!" Because even the world's most beautiful have their ugly moments and beauty blunders, if you can believe that! Here's Miley Cyrus: "I had someone waxing my eyebrows and they literally tore a piece of skin off!" OMG! Thank Billy Ray they were able to cover the mess up for Miley's next photo shoot! Saved in the nick of time!

I bet you'll also be shocked to know that blood money socialite Kim Kardashian has bad hair days: "I saw this one [photo] where my hair just looks really awful. It was too flat. I'm really into volume and it was really ugly. I did it on my own, it was my first time trying to put in clip-in extensions. I can't deal with all that." Gee, Kim, my hair looks like that every day and I somehow have the audacity to leave the house and inflict my gnarly look on the general public. I feel better just knowing that Kim has experienced the exact same thing!

I'm not dumb...I get it. They sell mags by putting hot chicks on the cover. But enough with the pandering. These people are successful because of how they look, not in spite of it. Bea Arthur never made the list. Neither did one of my other favorite people in history: Eleanor Roosevelt. Eleanor was one of the most inspiring, accomplished, groundbreaking women ever, and she once said that her only regret in life was that she wasn't pretty.

There's really no point to this post, other than to vent a bit about something that's always gone on and will continue. And to bitch about how much I hate the 50 Most Beautiful People issue. It's like, gee, really? Blake Lively's pretty? Tell me all about it again. Then call me Weiner Dog and tell me my Special People Club is for retards.

Bea. Real.

It's a sad day at S&C HQ. I just heard the news that one of my favorite people of all time has passed away: Bea Arthur.

When I was a little Rockit, I wanted to grow up to be like Maude. And then I hoped that I would be like Dorothy Szbornak when I got older. In real life, Bea was also inspiring. She was a medical technician during World War II, a passionate activist for gay rights and an animal welfare champion. Bea enjoyed reading, gardening, collecting antique furniture and gourmet cooking.

Here are a few cool Bea quotes to celebrate her life:

After being in the business for such a long time, I've done everything but rodeo and porno.

I'm not playing a role. I'm being myself, whatever the hell that is.

Now this goes to the grave with you—I hate cheesecake!

On Maude: Its bold storylines about race, abortion, feminism and drugs would have the typical 2007 network executive balled up in a corner, cradling old Touched by an Angel tapes.

What's your damage, Gwynnie??

From now on when I blog about Gwyneth Paltrow, I'm going to illustrate the post with this picture of wet spinach for two reasons: 1) this looks like Gwynnie's dinner, and 2) Gwynnie is starting to remind me of wet spinach. Seriously, this chick is getting up in Britney territory for making it too easy to rip on her.

As an aside, I have to apologize that this blog has gone from all Britney all the time to all RoL all the time to all Paltrow all the time. Let's have a contest to guess who will be the next target of obsessive coverage. First prize is a subscription to GOOP!

I just have to discuss the latest "newsletter" from STOOP. It deals with a "spiritual concept" that Spinach Dip refers to as the Evil Tongue. Hey, I've heard of that! Heh, heh, heh!

Anyway, she begins this issue with a curious story about an old "frenemy" of hers whom she discovered was "pretty hell-bent on taking me down." Then one day, something very humiliating happened to this person and Gwynnie reacted to the unfortunate event with...a smug little shit-eating grin. But why, Gwynnie wondered, do people react with smiles and laughter when someone else physically or metaphorically falls down? And was this frenemy Spin Dip speaks of WINONA RYDER, by any chance?? Hmmm! Sure makes one stop and think for about one-eighth of a second!

To cleanse her soul, Spin Dip consulted some of her sages, including that Kabballah douchebag she's always blowing and some "zen master" (FOR REAL). Basically, they all spout some version of the same tired idea: people who are happy about others' misfortunes have low self-esteem and a need to build themselves up by spreading chaos instead of good vibes. As the RockitKing would say, "When you point a finger at someone, there are three fingers pointing back at you." So everyone should just stop being mean to Gwyneth because she is just trying to provide the world a service with her inconscionable musings.

Aww, poor little Spinach! Let the Kabballah man pet your soggy, mop-like hair! It really hurts when others get laughs at your expense. Big meanie bloggers are sitting around in their kitty-cat pajama pants and "What Would Joan Jett Do?" t-shirt eating Doritos Collisions and spewing hatred at someone just because they have money and privilege and write a stupid lifestyle newsletter!

Well, as Winona once said, "Lick it up, baby! LICK! IT! UP!"

I bet Gwynnie's still smiling now that Winona's career has been all but demolished thanks to her little sticky-fingered jaunt through Sak's. What's interesting is that I remember reading about how Spin Dip actually stole the script for Shakespere in Love from Wino's house and then snagged the role of Viola from under her former friend's coked-up nose. So, if that's true, that means Gwynnie actually may be responsible for Wino's downward spiral and subsequent pill addiction and shoplifting habit. My god, Paltrow's psychotic! She's actually built it up in her mind that Wino deserved all the failure in her life for some imagined attempt at bringing her down!

This is all pure speculation, of course, but if it's true, it's really all starting to add up. Gwyneth Paltrow is mentally unhinged. Mark my words: the next few STOOP newsletters are going to focus on topics that indirectly accuse people of plotting against the author and then gently reminding readers it is SHE who deserves the best in life.

Don't forget about something else Winona once said, Spin Dip: "I say we just grow up, be adults and die." Sounds like a good plan to me.

Standing on the shoulders of giant dumbasses

My new ambition is to be Marina Hyde. Marina is an Oxford-educated columnist for the The Guardian and author of the next book on my Bookflix list Celebrity: How Entertainers Took Over the World and Why We Need an Exit Strategy. Why do I want to be someone else? Because she wrote the following super-brilliant article on her Lost in Showbiz blog that totally rips Madonna, Stella McCartney and Gwynnie three richly-deserved new assholes! Her sarcasm is exquisite, the take-downs beautifully devastating. I am green with envy. The best part is that none of these three nitwits could possibly come back with a statement that his half as clever.

In honor of this maestro's masterpiece, I am reproducing it here in its entirety so you, too, can bask in the brilliance:

Behold, the most serious challenge to the Royal Society in that august body's 350-year history - the medical musings of Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow and Stella McCartney. These women are not just singers, or actresses, or fashion designers. They are distinguished professors at the University of Celebrity, and are coating your understanding of science like a totally amazing organic body oil.

On top of this, they are best friends, so we can say their pronouncements are peer-reviewed in the best sense of that term. Can you imagine their gatherings? It must be as if Isaac Newton were taking antioxidant tea with Robert Koch and Marie Curie.

We shall come to her latest discoveries shortly, but by way of background, do recall that Gwyneth has formerly claimed that eating "biological foods" can prevent cancer, reminding us that starring in Iron Man and maintaining a glittering career in clinical research are not mutually exclusive. Then we have Madonna, who has cited the extraordinary healing powers of Kabbalah water, which costs $4 a bottle, is said to have had energy injected into it, and may or may not have been blessed by the former insurance salesman who dreamed up her religion.

Other fields of specialism? Alas, Lost in Showbiz hasn't the space today, but Madonna has previously championed a soi-disant scientist who claims to have reversed the second law of thermodynamics. And then there's Stella, who launched her organic skincare range with the warning that "lots of skin products use the same petrochemicals as the antifreeze in your car!", and is one of those celebrities who thinks they eat "chemical-free" food and use "chemical-free" products. I beg you not to tell her that water and trees are made of chemicals. The shock could finish her off.

So then to Gwyneth's latest thesis, published not in the British Medical Journal, surprisingly, but in Goop, the newsletter she sends out to her flock every week. According to Gwyneth, she bowed to crushing demand for this service from friends who were always asking her for restaurant recommendations and low-fat recipes and where to find reproduction art-deco taps. It is now Earth's most invaluable resource for all those unable to locate the perfect £650 cashmere egg cosy (remember: never eat the yolk, it gives you Aids or calories or something).

Entertainers being what they are, it was only a matter of time before Gwyneth branched out into bacteriology, and in her most recent communique she is good enough to explain her fears that household products are causing autism and cancer in children.

"A couple of years ago," she writes, "I was asked to give a quote for a book concerning environmental toxins and their effects on our children."

But how preposterous. I assume she replied: "I am an actor. My job is pretending to be other people. This does not qualify me to discourse on paediatric medicine"? Alas not.

"While reading up on the subject, I was seized with fear," Gwyneth continues. Lost in Showbiz hasn't the strength to bore you with it in full, but it's something about foetuses and young children being unable to "metabolise toxins" - toxins that come from all the "chemicals" we fill our environment with. "The research is troubling; the incidence of diseases in children such as asthma, cancer and autism have shot up exponentially ..."

No matter that there has been very little change in the rate of childhood cancers detected in recent years, and no matter that various leading experts have exploded in exasperation at Gwyneth's general hokum. Like her coterie of fellow scientists, she is indifferent to the critics, whom the form book suggests she would dismiss as "haters".

So if you hear anyone disparaging our three brainiacs, you tell them this: if we understand more than we did five years ago about how holy water can cure verrucas and how shampoo causes cancer, then it is because we are standing on the shoulders of these giants.

Standing ovation! Bravo! Bellissimo! My favorite part, of course, was the poke at STOOP, I mean GOOP, and the alleged rabid demand for the head Goop Stoop's recommendations and recipes. And on the topic of all these Hollywood assjackers who are speaking out about all the "toxins" and "chemicals" floating around in everyday products—I find it amusing that they're always screaming about air and water and cleaning products that are slowly turning our children in retarded cancer patients with lobster-claw syndrome, yet they have no problem injecting themselves with botulinum toxin, the most toxic protein known to man, so they can have wrinkle-free skin. Isn't it ironic, doncha think?

I so totally can't wait to hear the rebuttals from these mental midgets. Gwynnie will say "fuck the haters!" Madonna will try to put some kind of Kaballah voodoo hex on her (although she might not have time since she's off in Africa dressing like Dr. Livingston and collecting babies). Stella would go into toxic shock.

Anyhoo, big ups to my new fave writer, Marina! It makes me proud to see someone beating these Hollyweird wisenheimers into a small, organic stain instead of chugging the celeb Flavor Aid.

Spring Fever induces vomiting

My head is spinning with all the lame news that has been building up. Instead of blogging about it, my instinct was to run to a corner to hug my knees and rock for a few weeks. But there's no avoiding it. No matter how hard I try, I must face reality and just get this shit out. So here goes:

• Hide the bayonets: Count Grishnackh has been paroled! It's true: after 16 years in the pokey and four parole rejections, not to mention additional time for stealing a station wagon, stockpiling weapons and attempting to make a run for it while he was on some kind of weekend leave, he's finally getting out. According to the Guardian, the Count plans to stay true to his word and move to a small farm in rural Norway and has also cut all his neo-nazi ties. "I look forward the day that I [can] work on my farm, create music, write books and be with the wife and kids around the clock—and live a normal life," he said.

Whatever...I want to hear more about this wife. Is she one of those chicks that really digs convicts and writes them and then marries them in prison? Like that lovely lady who snagged the catch known as the Night Stalker? I smell another post topic...

• Today, Phil Spector was charged with the second-degree murder of Lana Clarkson, aka Mrs. Vargas in Fast Times. This is very tragic, but the real crime here is Phil's hair. What in the holy hell is going on with Phil's frigging hair?? He showed up in court looking like this over the course of his trial, then today he shows up for the verdict with this festering on his head. Is it just me or does he kind of look like Roman Polanski with this 'do? And his makeup job looks like it was done by a coroner's assistant. Under-eye blush makes dead people look like they just came in from snowmobiling.

• In the least shocking news since, well, Phil Spector was convicted of second-degree murder, the oldest Duggar, Josh and his child bride Anna are expecting what will be the first grandchild born to the Duggar gaggle. You may remember Josh and Anna as the not-old-enough-to-drink-legally couple that used their wedding gift registry to request such necessities as a tortilla warmer and an iPod Touch. So it sounds like they must have put those 400-thread-count Egyptian cotton bedsheets to use, eh? Bow-chicka-wow-wow! These two claim they didn't even KISS until they were married. Isn't that so wholesome? They also have a whole bunch of new resources on their website, which I'm afraid is going to require a whole other post. Let's just say the "theatrical blockbuster" Fireproof, starring Kirk Cameron, gets a five out of five Jesus fish rating from these two.

Anyway, Josh and Anna called a family meeting back in February and "surprised" everyone with the news that Anna is knocked up. They were surprised? I don't even know these people and I predicted they'd pop a kid out nine months to the day of the wedding. OK, so I was a little off (she's due in October). The big surprise would be if these fertile bastards announce that god told them they have enough kids and to knock it the hell off already.

(Aside: If all the Duggar kids end up having 18 kids, there would be a grand total of 324 Duggar grandkids. Gross! They could possibly take over Wyoming.)

• Who's your vote for the weirdest couple of all time? Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow? Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley? Anna Nicole Smith and that old guy? Whoever it is, this one's going to beat it: Smashing Pumpkins singer Billy Corgan and bisexual MySpace whore Tila Tequila. Yeah, you read that right. Billy Fucking Corgan and Tila Fucking Tequila.

Confession time: there was time that I adored Smashing Pumpkins. Gish, Siamese Dream, "Drown"...grunge-era SPs. Then, one by one, I started intensely hating each member of the band...D'arcy first, then Billy, then James Iha...until I almost can't even listen to the songs I like anymore for fear of promoting them in some small way. Billy Corgan is so dead to me that I want to reanimate him so I can make him dead to me again.

Well, that's about all I can take for now. Oh, I almost forgot! Jane's Addiction scheduled a show in Cowtown!! If you go, stop by and say hi. I'll be the one being carried out on a stretcher when "Ocean Size" starts up.

Gwynnie has lost it

If you thought the last two posts on GOOP were crazy, wait until you read this. This shit is getting seriously weird. Chris Martin, if you're reading this, commit your wife as quickly as possible.

Truthfully, I'm not even sure what to say about Gwyneth's latest "newsletter"...for once I'm speechless. So I'm simply going to cut and paste the whole mess here for you to see for yourself. Pad your jaw so it doesn't hurt too much when it hits the floor.

I was having dinner with a dear friend of my godmother's, Marianne Williamson. For those of you not acquainted with Marianne, she's best known as an author, life advisor and spiritual activist. She radiates an almost golden aura that can make her quite intimidating to those who don't know her, but she's actually very down-to-earth and irreverent. On this particular evening, our conversation turned to holistic healing and home remedies. As it turned out, both of our families had passed many of the same old cure-alls from generation to generation. Some of these tried-and-true remedies I use on my own little ones when they get tummy aches or sore throats or fall and bruise their legs during play. Others are used to refresh tired skin or halt the spread of gray hairs. Marianne and I compiled a list to share some of our favorites. We hope these tips will help when you're in a pinch.

• Alcohol mixed with lemon juice and mint leaves can ease the sting of a sunburn.

• Raw garlic, when rubbed gently on the face, helps clear away blemishes and redness.

• To ease a sore throat and cough: grind up some pure mango bark (which can be found at many health-food stores), mix 1/3 cup with 2 tablespoons of sea salt, 1 teaspoon of honey and the juice and pulp from two fresh-squeezed organic oranges. Apply as a poultice to your chest and cover with a warm, damp towel.

• For headaches, try yogic kriyas like jalneti and kunjal.

• Drink five cups of organic chamomile tea in quick succession to stop the spread of poison ivy.

• Ear wax works wonders for cold sores—seriously! Be sure to use a cotton-tipped swab to apply directly to the affected area. This is also a very effective way to keep developing sores from forming completely.

• Keep a jar of mashed fenugreek leaves and pickled ginger in your refrigerator. When you feel nauseated, open the jar and breathe deeply.

• Sprinkle a mixture of linseed, epsom salt and bishop's weed around baby's crib to ward away diaper rash.

• Everyone knows that cucumber slices are wonderful for ridding the under-eyes of dark circles. Soak cosmetic puffs in Indian gooseberry juice and place them on top of the cucumber slices for faster healing.

• Dollop butter into your hair once a week for 45 minutes to ward off premature grays.

• Instantly cure a hangover by blending two cups of milk, one whole banana and a shot of tabasco sauce. Drink the mixture slowly to allow your body to absorb the nutrients.

• Chew 12 dandelions and wash them down with an 8 oz. glass of water mixed with baking soda and vinegar to ease the pain of a toothache.

• Tie a red silk ribbon around a potato and bury it in your vegetable garden. In three days, warts will disappear. This works best if the potato is buried near a cantaloupe plant.

• Add powdered sugar, whole papayas and Indian squill to ice-cold bath water and soak for 15 minutes. This will alleviate even the worst menstrual cramps.

• Nothing gets rid of varicose veins disappear faster than virgin's blood.

She's really lost it, like for real. I think I'm a little bit worried about Gwyneth...and Marianne Williamson is a very bad influence! I think she needs a Britney-style intervention. Time for her mother, celebrated actress Blythe Danner, to take over control of Gwynnie's assets!

P.S. If it wasn't totally obvious, I made all this shit up. Happy April Fool's Day, lovelies! Um, don't really do any of this stuff...if that isn't totally obvious, either.

NIN/JA warrior!

I'm peeing my pants right at this very moment because I got my tickets to the concert of the millennium: NINE INCH NAILS AND ORIGINAL JANE'S ADDICTION!!!!! I promise a full report with all the fabulous details and plenty of braggadocio. Be prepared, bitches!!

Dirty night...

I feel it's my duty to notify readers that Trip Advisor's 2009 Dirtiest Hotels list has come out. Last year, I relayed some choice comments from the 2008 list, so I think I'm going to make this an annual thing. Because after driving for 16 straight hours and finally laying down for a good night's rest in a Comfort Inn, only to stick your hand in a load of dried spooge that had been smeared on the comforter for god knows how long...well, I just don't want that to have to happen to anyone else. That's enough to turn anyone into a hotel snob.

Now I'm not being Gwyneth and saying you have to stay at the exclusive Chateau Prétentieux if you don't want to sleep on a bed of assorted pubes. Just do a little research, bring your own pillow and if you see jumping bugs, check out immediately.

Anyhoo, like last year, I'd like to highlight some of the more hilariously disgusting stories of filth submitted by those who lived it. Prepare to puke. Of note: there are three Days Inns on the list this year. Coincidence?

Body found, stoned doorman...YAY, welcome to NYC.

One was able to see through the glass just enough to observe a band of errant prostitutes, soliciting buisness on the front steps of the hotel from a group of equally degenerate drunkards.

This is the kind of place where at any time a pancake makeup-encrusted octogenerian with yellowed teeth, clad in a shabby silk bedcoat and moth-eaten feather boa can be expected to be seen wandering the halls muttering, "Mr. Demille, I'm ready for my close-up."

The front door had a paper sign for a party group meeting in the lounge. It appeared from the context it was a swingers group. Two couples we met later on the elevator seemed to confirm that.

Some people must live there? They had a big pot party and asked my son if he wanted some. Located in porn section. Nothing close by that looked safe. Would not recommend.

I really appreciated the "Hookers" being so kind and thoughtful as to hold the door for me, but I was too tired to take them up on the wonderful offers they had.

The bathroom offered an array of grossness starting with the pubes that were all over the floor. They really sweetened the pot for us with the 1-ply toilet paper and the jar of Vaseline. I still dont know what the heck that was all about. Housekeeping came up and cleaned with some unknown bloodbourne pathogens cleaner that made our eyes water all night.

I've never seen a bigger caterpillar turn up in a restaurant salad. They can't have washed the lettuce. Just as bad: the waiter's complete lack of surprise when he was shown the caterpillar. And filthy carpets are one thing, but have you ever seen a carpet that was literally sticky? I don't want to think about how much non-cleaning it took for it to reach that state.

To top it all off, about 30 minutes after I got into bed, the room started vibrating as if someone was drilling into the floor beneath us, and this continued on and off for the rest of the night. So as it turned out, Mr. and Mrs. Sex-a-thon next door weren't the only ones the earth shook for that night.

I want to see some reviews of places like this on GOOP. No more of this Ritz and Plaza business—I want first person write-ups of places called "Ramada Inn and Convention Center of Aberdeen, South Dakota". Could you imagine if Gwynnie found jizz on her sheet at a hotel? That's some GOOP she wouldn't want anything to do with—HAHAHAHAHA! I'm funny!

Punch Trunk love

I just found one of my childhood favorites on YouTube. Smoking, drinking, hallucinating...and the tiny elephant in the middle of it all.

Let them eat GOOP!

Well, well, well. Looks like a *someone* is having a really hard time taking criticism.

Yep, Gwyneth's bitching again, and this time it's to People magazine. And of course, she does it in that oblivious elitist tone that we've come to know and love:

"I think the people who are criticizing it or criticizing the idea of it, don't really get it, because if they did, they would like it," Paltrow, 36, told PEOPLE Wednesday night at a New York City benefit she hosted for Bent On Learning, a non-profit organization which arranges yoga and meditation classes in the city's public schools.

Speaking of not getting it, fucking yoga classes for New York City public schools?? Is this bitch for real? Yes, that's what the kids need: yoga and meditation.

Paltrow said she believes some of the barbs simply stem from the fact that she's doing something new and different. "I think that people like people to stay in their box—they like people to stay how they are comfortable seeing them." The Shakespeare in Love Oscar winner told PEOPLE of Goop.com, "There's nothing incendiary about it. I find it really interesting because it's a harmless [news]letter that goes out each week."

Paltrow says she decided to launch the Web site, which carries the tagline, "Nourish The Inner Aspect," "because I felt like I had a lot of really useful information that I was privileged enough to get, because I have this amazing, super-fortunate life."

In addition, she said, "My friends call me all the time to say, 'Where should I go?' or 'What should I do?' And I thought, you know maybe some other people would be interested in it as well, so I started it, and it's doing great."

Take that, peasants! Marie Antoinette just wants the apple-knockers to eat cake instead of starve and lose their jobs and face foreclosure. The Times (that's the New York Times) even took her side this week with a sympathetic little write-up ruminating on why everyone hates the poor little rich girl.

Despite what she might think, nothing she is doing is new and different. Her recommended books list looks like a junior high lit class syllabus. People don't need Gwyneth Paltrow to tell them that they should see the Rembrandt exhibit at the Prado Museum. Parents don't want advice on raising kids from someone who not only doesn't have to worry about being able to afford diapers and formula, but also probably employs an army of nannies. Those who work all day (if they're lucky enough to have a job in this economy) don't want "indulgent", time-consuming recipes that require caviar, real Vermont maple syrup and "Veganaise."

As for Gwynnie's comment that she's just sharing privileged information she acquired thanks to her amazing, super-fortunate life, I mean, really, she's just asking for it. A statement like that is so obviously tailored to get people fired up and spur talk about her, thereby keeping her in the news. Hell, I'm doing it, but I make fun of jerks whether they're celebrities or not.

It's clear that Gwyneth has been doing vanity Googles of herself. So if she happens upon Stupid & Contagious, here's a message: staying at $1,000-a-night hotels and dining on dodo bird eggs does not make you an expert on the best that life has to offer. You are CLUELESS. Return to your box. And take your foie gras and stick it up your ass.

I watched the Oscars and all I got was this lousy hangover

So the Oscars. Blah blah blah.

I enjoyed the ceremony. I thought Hugh Jackman was a good host. I thought all the winners were deserving. I cried when Heath Ledger's family accepted his award. I smiled when the lovely Kate Winslet finally got a trophy. I thought all the dancing Indians were great.

And I was drunk off my ass. So of course I loved everything.

The problem with the Oscars is the seven-second delay. It takes all the fun out of it. Imagine if Mickey Rourke had won, for example—the orchestra wouldn't have stopped playing at all. They would have played him onstage and right off. Before the stupid safety delay, all kinds of fun shit went down at the big ceremony. In celebration of the land before Oscar night censorship, let's take a look back at the best unexpected Oscar moments in history

Cher (1986)
No one does bad fashion like Cher...and she does it fabulously. We would expect nothing less. And the most infamous example is the feathered headdress, showgirl glitter-strap crop top, zig-zag skirt and matching wrap thing she wore to

Angelina Jolie (2000)
Nine words: "I'm so in love with my brother right now.

Greer Garson (1942)
Greer won Best Actress for Mrs. Miniver and she also wins for the longest acceptance speech in Oscar history. The little stick man wasn't around to cue up the orchestra while Greer pontificated on the nature of competition for SEVEN FUCKING MINUTES.

Sacheen Littlefeather (1973)
When he won the Best Actor Oscar for The Godfather, Marlon Brando sent a Native American woman to publicly reject the award and not because beached whale Brando couldn't get his giant beluga ass off the sofa to make it to the ceremony. It was a boycott in protest against the mistreatment of American Indians in movies and on TV and at Wounded Knee. Backstage, Sacheen read Brando's 15-page speech to the press. She later took off her Apache garb for Playboy.

Robert Opel (1974)
Robert is a photographer, gallery owner and gay rights activist, but you probably know him as the guy that ran naked across the stage while David Niven was presenting an award. The timing is impeccable—Niven says "And now to divulge the contents of this year's most important envelope is a very important contributor to world entertainment..." then BAM! Peen and a peace sign! For some reason, the music starts up. The Niven quips, "Isn't it fascinating to think that probably the only laugh that man will ever get in his life is by stripping off and showing his shortcomings." Oh, Niven, you lovable old queen you!

Joe Pesci (1990)
I've said it before and I'll say it again. Pesci is my all-time favorite Oscar moment because of what he didn't do, and that is go on and on in his speech thanking his golf caddy, his masseuse, god, buddah, allah, mohammed, xenu and his 50 lawyers. Instead, he accepted his award and said, "This is an honor and a privilege. Thank you."

The end.

RoL 3.3-3.5: Make it stop

I've just about had it with RoL. I never thought I'd see the day, but this show is sucking my will to live. Bret is totally phoning it in, the skanks are the most disgusting bunch of festering boils ever to infect my television and I'm kind of worried about more important things right now. Like Rihanna. I'm totally worried about Rihanna. Do you think she's OK?

Anyway, the name of the show is bugging me, too. Couldn't they have come up with a better name than Rock of Love Bus? What about Rock of Love: Road Burn? Or Rock of Love: Skid Marks? Or why beat around the bush: Rock of Love: Sluts on Wheels?

So since we last left our (g)road crew, Porny, Brazil Nut and Random Blonde #57 (who wasn't "there for Bret") got voted off. Big whoop

The next ep starts off with Squishy Barbie Doll Face and Random Blonde #2 (or is it #8?) talking about Natasha, the one who said she wanted to be a madam on the first episode, and speculating on the size of Nat's peepee. They think she's a dude. I guess she's going to have to get bigger implants to convince these two that she's female. These chicks look like they got boob jobs from Octomom's doctor.

Meanwhile, Bret's riding in style on his personalized Bret Bus, complete with a giant bed, acoustic guitar for making hits and what look like cymbal lamps, and he's deep in thought. On the other RoLs, he was "hot and heavy" with some of the girls by this point in the season, but this time around things are moving too slow for his liking. So in true Bret fashion, he decides to get things cooking...by taking the skanks to Larry Flynt's Hustler Club.

All the Random Blondes go nuts. "I see all these poles and I'm like, I'm home!" one screams. "The lame skanks haven't been in a Hustler Club," another shrills. That may be true, Random Blonde, but the library is free and has far less bodily fluids on the walls (we hope).

OK, I thought they may have hit rock bottom on the challenges with the "marry Bret and write meaningful vows" contest, but this one is even dumber and more meaningless than that. Upon entering what appears to be the Champagne Room, Bret presents three frumpy chicks an announces that the skanks will have to divide into teams and make over a frump. The team that makes their nottie the hottest hottie wins a super-awesome Bret Date. That's right: it's a fucking makeover challenge.

Naturally, the skanks all start laughing at the frumps and my first thought is, you can totally tell that all three girls are strippers wearing glasses, sweats and no makeup. It's sort of like that stupid movie with Freddie Prinze Jr. where the chick is totally cute but because she is wearing glasses and overalls we're supposed to believe she's a nerd.

Anyway, here comes the Aqua Net and blue eye shadow. Brows are drawn on with Sharpies. Sweats are discarded in favor of skinny jeans. Hair is teased and fluffed to appropriate trashiness. When the girls come out, they actually look kind of cute. We have Jamie, who is about the size of a plastic cocktail sword and who earns Bret's approval for bralessness; Jenny, who looks a bit like the older sister on The Wonder Years; and Kami, who Squishy says looks like Rosie O'Donnell in makeup.

Well, good job, girls. Bret likes what he sees and he simply can't make a decision, so he's just going to take all three team captains on date And, oh, by the way, would Jamie, Jenny and Kami like to join the "tour" and compete for Bret's heart? Sure!

Wait a minute! Did I just hear a record-scratching sound? Here's the big ol' monkey wrench Bret was talking about! For some reason, some of the skanks start clapping at the news while others just look pissed. Squishy, for one, is not going to take this standing up, so she marches onto Bret's bus to lie down...and talk. Bret thinks this is a sign that Squishy cares and immediately starts gossiping about the other whores with her. Here's Squishy's chance to share her man theory about Natasha, and, boy, does she take it, adding that she thinks Nat wears tutus to hide her bulge. Bret is intrigued and makes out with Squishy. Meanwhile, she's got a Hello Kitty tattoo and he's wearing that ridiculous "American Outlaw" airbrushed cowboy hat again.

So now it's date time and Bret takes Mindy, Natasha and Random Blonde #37 on a riverboat! I'm kind of bummed that they didn't all get dressed up in riverboat attire, with Bret donning a fake handlebar moustache, Colonial Sanders string tie and garters on his sleeves. It would have helped add a bit of interest, because this is likely the most boring date in RoL history. He makes out extensively with Mindy and considers asking Nat about her alleged dick, but decides she must be a girl because she freaks out when a bug lands on her. I'm really starting to hate Bret.

And this confirms it. As soon as he returns from the date, Bret summons Squishy and invites her on his personal Bret Bus. He plays a bad power ballad for her on his acoustic guitar and tells her he likes her "in a really hot, sexy girlfriend way." Jesus Christ, what is this...study hall? Plus, it must be noted that Squishy is hideous and is wearing a trucker hat that says "Beautiful Disaster" on it. Bret starts swallowing her, then takes her to the back of the bus, where he probably put on his American Outlaw hat and then engaged in adult interaction with Squishy. You and I are not the only ones shuddering. Bev's there, too.

The next day, Bret takes the three new girls on a bowling date and this is officially the most boring RoL date ever, even though Bret thinks it's awesome.

Once they get back, though, something interesting happens. Bret hits the hotel gym for a little workout and Dimples decides to use it as a chance to get some alone time because she's "shy." As she says this she's saunters into the room wearing what is essentially a napkin used as a halter with another napkin used as a skirt. Bret calls it the best motivation to work out ever and asks her to "tell me stuff." At this point, you can practically hear the wind whistling through her empty head. Bret goads her to talk several more times, but she just sits there like a dead plant with pierced dimples, Sharpie brows and skank suit smiling in that way that people smile where they hear a joke they don't understand. After what seems like an eternity of awkwardness, she gets up to leave with her boob hanging out and interviews that she thinks the physical connection is there but "I'm concerned that the other...what's that called? Mental? Emotional?...like isn't." Bret scratches his balls.

It's elimination time and let's make it quick and easy like ripping off a Band-Aid: Nat the possible man gets the boot. Over and out. I can't take it anymore.

Next week: Nashville, Mud Bowl 3, boobs and possible sex. A beautiful disaster indeed.

UPDATE: Gwynnie says F.U. to the non-diamond shitters

Hot on the heels of yesterday's post, I find this little tidbit from OK! Magazine. It's an excerpt from a Gwynnie Paltrow interview in the upcoming issue of Elle UK. Apparently, she just doesn't understand why everyone hates GOOP!

Gwyneth Paltrow wants to get a few things off her chest. First, she's aware of the negative reviews her new web site, GOOP, has received from critics, and she's not taking them lying down.

"Fuck the haters! I saw this blog of people writing horrible things about me and, for a second, your ego is so wounded," Paltrow, 36, says in the March issue of Elle UK. "How could people hate me, my intentions or what I'm trying to do? I'm a good person and I'm trying to put good things into the world."

All together now: A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! She really honestly thinks her stupid little website is doing good in the world! It's kind of cute.

Pomposity, thy name is Paltrow

I have a red-hot hatred of Gwyneth Paltrow. Ever since I saw her in Seven, I've hated her anemic guts. That was back when she was still engaged to Brad Pitt and everyone was creaming about her being the next Grace Kelly. Give me a break.

When I first saw Gwyneth in Seven she reminded me of a whimpering puppy, then I decided she reminded me more of a scarecrow, complete with the rod shoved up its ass. Now I'm getting more of a wet mop vibe, and maybe it's because she's such a wet blanket.

But it's not necessarily her wispy, straw-like looks that annoy me: it's the fact that she seems to think she's smart, sophisticated and worldly and that everyone needs to hear her opinions and recommendations on everything that pops into her pea brain. Every time she opens her mouth it's something pretentious, pseudo-intellectual and superior. She whines about not being able to get facials every day now that she's a parent and pontificates on how she'd rather "travel economy" than sell out. And then there's all the musings about how much better England is than America. To refresh your memory and ignite your ire:

I love the English way, which is not as capitalistic as it is in America. People don't talk about work and money. They talk about interesting things at dinner parties. I like living here because I don't tap into the bad side of American psychology, which is "I'm not achieving enough, I'm not making enough, I'm not at the top of the pile!"

I'm very happy here [in London] and I really like the way the film industry works. Everybody cares. I like that it doesn't have this big capitalistic feeling. When you do something in L.A. you really feel the crew are punching the clock.

I find the English amazing how they got over 7/7. There were no multiple memorials with people sobbing as they would have been in America. There, they are constantly scaring people but at the same time, people think nothing of going to see a therapist.

Brits are far more intelligent and civilized than Americans. I love the fact that you can hail a taxi and just pick up your pram and put in the back of the cab without having to collapse it.

Pram! Well gollleee, I wish I could be as sophisticated as Gwyneth Paltrow. But here I am just a slack-jawed yokel who don't care 'bout nothing but meat pies n' money! Well, it looks like all us rubes are in luck because Gwynnie has graciously decided to share her worldly wisdom with us pleabians in the form of GOOP, her new "lifestyle" website. Now we, too, can learn how to live like the crunchy granola queen of show-biz!

Seriously, you have to check this site out. It shows just how unintelligent, elitist and out-of-touch she really is. Bear in mind that she launched this site in September, in the midst of an economic collapse, with the intro line, "My life is good because I am not passive about it." I mean, the cluelessness is staggering.

And then there's the ever-present stink of pretentiousness that hovers around everything Gwynnie says and does. The site's subtitle says it all: "Nourish the Inner Aspect." Buckle up and get ready for a puke-inducing ride into the seventh circle of New Age hell. Gwynnie's all about yoga and acupuncture and wheat germ and all manner of pseudoscientific tripe. But don't let me tell you about it. Why don't we explore Gwynnie's magical life and what she thinks we should Make, Go, Get, Do, Be and See...and rip this bitch a new one?

Make
"It is that time of year, folks. I need to lose a few pounds of holiday excess. Anyone else?" Duh, of course, Gwyneth! I'm fat! And I'm dying to be pin thin like you! How do I do that? With a detox, of course. Dr. Gwynnie recommends drinking fresh fruit smoothies (organics only!), beet juice, broccoli and arugula soup and other boring veggie mush mixtures that look like throw-up. But what happens if my bowel movements get sluggish? "You can accelerate things by drinking half a cup of castor oil or using a mild herbal laxative. Bowel elimination is paramount for correct detoxification." Do this and you will shit diamonds like Gwyneth.

Go
Gwynnie is a real jet-setter and she cautions that the hotels that she recommends in this section are "a little on the pricey side" but assures us that her "GOOP girls" are researching some cheaper places and that they will personally try them out before recommending. When the cheapest room available on the list is $350 per night, Gwyneth's paying, girls. We'll all be sure to do din at Riva where the food is "on par with the deliciousness of the amuse." Whatever the fuck that means.

Get
The life of an ak-toor is filled with luxury, luxurious goods and luxurious clothes and fabrics. Gwyneth is oft referred to as a modern fashion icon. But she wasn't always a stylish and pulled-together princess. After she had her pretentiously-named children, "It all kind of went out the window. For a few years I was basically in sweat pants and I didn't mind it. It's a fine line, however, between being comfortable and being demoralized by being frumpy all the time." Gwynnie recommends that all the frumpy hausfraus of the world should avoid demoralization by establishing a "uniform"—something that is easy and stylish at the same time that you can just throw on. Like a Tod's trench coat. Or Rag and Bone jeans. Just grab your Balenciaga clutch and you're on your way! You look like a million bucks for...several thousand bucks.

Gwynnie also recommends some great gifts so that we can all share luxury with our friends and family, including a $1,850 Hermes watch, a $1,400 man purse that you know Chris Martin personally carries, a $500 Dean & Deluca gift basket, and a $40 pair of salad tongs. But they're really luxurious tongs, so they're totally worth it.

Be
If you didn't know, Gwyneth is super-spiritual and holistic. In this section of the website, she "thought it would be inspiring to periodically ask a question to a group of thinkers from various traditions on the subjects that confound" her. This GOOP meeting of the minds includes Deepak Chopra, "Michael Berg of the Kabbalah Centre" and the founder of "The Threshold Society & The Mevlevi Order." Do I really need to comment on this?

See
"I feel a bit swallowed up in January," laments Gwyneth. "The days are so short, the sky is so close and gray. The best way to escape (not to mention the least expensive, most hassle-free way) is to curl up by the fire with an amazing, transportive novel." Amen! Please tell us what you and your "most literary-minded" girlfriends recommend for a gray day of transportation? Of course, there's Anna Karenina, which is a great choice. And there's the hipster classic A Confederacy of Dunces, which Chris Martin probably read to her on their third date. And don't forget the Oprah's Book Club favorite Their Eyes Were Watching God. Did you know the author "died working as a domestic with no money to her name?" Whoa, watch it there, Mrs. Henry Lafayette DuBose!

Gwynnie's personal favorites are Jane Eyre, Crime and Punishment, and The Sheltering Sky, which was given to her by Ethan Hawke after he "correctly intuited that I needed some perspective, some grounding, a sort of literary bringing down to size." What I wouldn't do to have been a fly on the wall at the Algonquin Round Table of Gwyneth Paltrow and Ethan Hawke.

Well, those are the lowlights and I've just about had it with this piss. Of course, there's plenty more well-deserved vitriol to hurl Gwynnie's way, but why waste the time? Last week, 68,000 people lost their jobs in the U.S. in one day, and Gwyneth posted a recipe for turkey meatballs and green peas requiring no more than "a squeeze of lemon juice, torn basil, a drizzle of good olive oil and a little Maldon sea salt for good measure." All I can say is that Gwyneth Paltrow needs to Make some time to read the news, Go outside of her privileged crystal ball once in a while, Get her head out of her ass, Be aware of her own intellectual shortcomings and See all the middle fingers that are pointed in her direction, thanks to GOOP.

P.S. Shout-out to Karen and Amanda!

RoL3.2: Something borrowed, something used

God, here we go again. I've decided that I'm not even going to bother learning these skanks' names because they all look alike. Bev is the only one...she's kind of cool. Which means she doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of winning.

So today the gang boards the Whoremobiles to travel the long and lonesome highway east of Omaha to go to Indianapolis...where they're all going to marry Bret. Jesus christ. Just when you think these challenges couldn't get any dumber and more meaningless, the contestants are being asked to write wedding vows for Bret and bring him a gift that shows him who they are. What is Bret going to do with 13 pairs of crotchless panties? I guess we'll see...

Porny, for one, is taking this challenge very seriously. She interviews that she's truly in love with Bret for the rest of her life and they should fly on their beautiful wings of love to make the world a better place. I don't know what's scarier—her comments or her nose job. It reminds me of a decomposed Bo Derek.

While she's off being creepy, the others are bent over notebooks writing their vows in bubble letters and dotting their i's with little hearts. The New Age kook plans to dazzle Bret with her mysticism and spends the trip to Indy practicing a ridiculous undulating dance of love.

So the Slutmobiles pull up in front of a church and the gals are directed to a rack of outfits and accessories to create their wedding looks. It's a blur of tulle, fishnet and hot pink stretch satin. Meanwhile, Bret's waiting at the altar wearing a sleeveless tuxedo t-shirt and his ever-present bandanna. The church (must be Unitarian) is decked out in burgandy and black and there's even a leather-clad biker lesbian with a Stratocaster to play "Here Comes the Bride." It's enough to make every stripper feel like Cinderella.

First up is Porny and she's on a mission to put every single one of her feelings out there on the table...with five pages of vows. There's terror in Bret's eyes as she mentions kissing away tears and being an umbrella in the rain. Cue Psycho reet-reet sound effects.

While she's treating this as if it really is her big day, some of the other girls are opting for a different, and more obvious approach. Random Blonde #1 writes her vows in verse and notes that if Bret buys the cow, he can hit it from behind. Brazil Nut promises to love, honor and never wear panties. Penthouse Pet Girl gives him framed pictures from her pictorials and some lingerie. Random Blonde #2 gives Bret an Ed Gein-esque plaster model of her torso. And Dimple Piercing Girl gives him her fucking vag stud. I mean, hygiene is getting compromised here.

Finally, we have the breath of fresh air known as Bev who comes down the isle wearing jeans and some kind of motocross t-shirt. She gives Bret the shirt and a helmet. We all know how one way to this man's heart is with dirt bikes, but the main way is with boobs, and Penthouse, Dimples and Random Blonde #1 win.

Back on the bus, Porny collapses on the couch in tears and whines "Am I not good enough?" Yikes. I sense and awkward evening. If anything, at least it with be whimsical, too. The gang is staying at the world-famous Fantasuite Hotel, a joint that features themed rooms. There's an Alien Invasion room with a spaceship-shaped bed and a Venetian room with a gondola. Everyone oohs and ahhs over the rooms and then gathers outside for a Tahitian-themed "reception." There's pigs-in-a-blanket, pineapple and ham poppers and booze a-flowing...and then the lap dances start.

Everyone takes turns writhing and undulating and snaking around Bret. Everyone that is, except Porny, who is sitting alone and sulking because Bret didn't appreciate her book of vows. So she decides it's time to turn her game up a notch. She dashes into her room and changes into what appears to be a child's bikini, slathers orange bronzer all over herself and makes her grand entrance with a shake and a shimmy and a "WHOOOOO!!!" Then she crawls across the lawn to Bret and stands on her head and sticks her crotch right under his nose.

Well, now that this party has been killed, the gang moves indoors where Bret announces that they're going to play a little game called Are You Smarter Than A Rock Star. The skanks can earn VIP passes for alone time with Bret by answering questions correctly. Security Goon Big John, who looks like he's starting to really hate this gig, starts reading off the questions and Bret keeps shouting out the correct answers. Since he can't give the passes to himself, he just hands them out to the three chicks that look the hottest: Penthouse, Natasha and Random Blonde #3.

Once again, Porny loses it and screetches to Natasha that she only got a pass because she's black. Dun-dun-dun! It's on, bitch! With accusations of racism flying Porny defends herself by screaming "My grandfather's black! He's a beautiful black man!" Is this really happening? I mean, they are all in a room with a spaceship and aliens so maybe where in an alternate universe of some kind. An alternate universe that reeks of regurgitated champagne.

So the next morning, Bret takes the wedding challenge winners on the world's most boring date in a fucking pumpkin patch. It's painful, so let's skip this BS. Upon returning to the hotel, Bret decides to meet with some of the randoms he hasn't had the chance to French yet. One of those randoms is the New Age freakshow. She immediately starts in about what a passionate, sexual person she is and how she thinks about sex all the time and sex, sex, sex. But, she also thinks the body is a sacred temple and...has vowed not to have sex for three years. Sorry, New Age...pack up your bindis and saris and get off the bus.

Elimination is anticlimactic, too. Of note is Porny having yet another breakdown where she interviews that she's not this "crazy, wild, naked person anymore" and it's becoming clear that her entire future, feelings of self-worth and, frankly, life is hinging on this show. Lucky for her, she's invited to stay around another week.

Next week: the Whoremobiles roll into Illinois, the gals play hockey with Hatchet Face, Random Blonde #4's implant pops and someone has a boyfriend back home and is accused of not being "there" for Bret. AGAIN.

RoL3.1: Open up and say...gahhhhhh

Hellooooo, 2009! Time to start anew. New resolutions, new plans, new things to look forward to...and the same old shit on this blog.

That's right, kids. Just in time for the third anniversary of Stupid & Contagious (yay!), my favorite reality train wreck Rock of Love is back for a third stab at making us think Bret Michaels really just wants a nice girl. The RockitKing has already given up on all of the Of Loves (thanks for nothing, Flav). But I, being mentally ill, am right here again, plopped in front of the TV and hating myself for the entire hour.

And what an hour it is. During the first ep of the last season of RoL, I mentioned my first impression was that I'd never seen so much bad hair in my life. Well, this time my first impression is that there are some plastic surgeons in this world that are on the run to South America as we speak, because what was done to some of these chicks can only be defined as criminally disfiguring. I mean, Michael Jackson's surgeon wouldn't say no and his nose fell off. At least half of these girls are struggling to stand upright. Bret seems to have gotten a little refresher, too. I'm guessing permanent cosmetics and a little chemical peel...

So once again, Bret kicks the show off by taking photos of the girls "for their backstage passes" and makes the same stupid joke for the third time about getting a look at their souls through the lens. The lineup of skanks this time around looks like a fucking sideshow. One girl, Gia, makes a big stink about how she loves being tied up. Another stunner named Brittanya has her dimples pierced and describes herself as "a little bit not too smart."

The first ho to step up and get her picture taken is Brittaney (not to be confused with Brittanya) and she looks a little familiar to Bret. Surprise! She's a porn star! And Bret, of course, is familiar with her "work." She hopes Bret won't hold her past against her. Seriously.

Then we have Constandina who hails from the "Appalachian mountains" and has a master's degree in storytelling. She references her "third eye" and I can already tell she's not going to win so let's not waste too much time on her. We also have Ashley, who Bret says looks like Juliette Lewis, but looks more like a Barbie doll, but when you squish its forehead into its chin, to me. Next in line is wild animal trainer Megan; brothel-madam-wannabe Natasha; Brazilian nut Marcia; a 40-year old with chicken cutlets for cheeks named Maria; Poison groupie Beverly; a Penthouse Pet named Taya who shows Bret her ass; and finally Mindy, who recently had her face sharpened.

And then there's Nikki, or as she calls herself, DJ Lady Tribe, or as I like to call "her," The Thing. The Thing makes Daisy and Frenchie from last season look like pillars of class and sophistication. I mean, she is seriously the most disgusting hot mess of melted plastic, synthetic hair and goofballs I've ever seen in my life. To tantalize Bret, she sings him a rap that she wrote herself...on two pieces of paper with the headings GENITAL HERPES and GONHORREA. I wish I was making this up. Then she appears on camera slurring that everything she's on "is legal" before belching into the camera. And it only gets worse from here, if you can believe it. Just you wait.

So this season, Bret decides that he can't keep a girl because he can't find someone who can hang on the road. So he's loading all the hobags on tour busses and dragging them around the country with him on his solo tour. Of course, he makes the same wisecrack about rock n' roll being the cause of and the solution to all his relationships. Thank god he doesn't reference rock as his "bitch goddess" again, though. The bitches load up on blue and pink tour busses, with help from our old friend Security Goon Big John, who is shown emptying a trash can that seems to be filled to the brim with tampons. Oh god, please bleach your hands after that, Security Goon Big John.

As soon as the busses hit the highway, the drama begins. Squishy Barbie Doll Head and Brazil Nut start fighting right off the bat all the way to the first stop in Louisville. There, they meet Bret at his concert and are immediately brought out on stage to skank it up for the crowd. All manner of drunken antics take place including make outs, boob reveals and ass lickings. About three-quarters of the girls act like mega-sluts in front of the audience while the rest interview their disgust. Then if that wasn't bad enough, the real action starts in at the after-party.

OK, when I say real action, what I really mean is likely the skankiest thing to ever happen in the history of reality TV. I mean, it's so skanky that even the skanks were grossed out. Want me to tell you what it was? OK, brace yourself. Gia the Masochist announces that she's not wearing underwear and hops up on the bar to prove it. The Thing announces that she's horny and proceeds to...how shall I say this? OK, she has a test tube shot, and she puts it in the test tube rack, and then she drinks from the test tube...oh hell, we don't get to see it, and thank god, because even Bret looks disgusted.

Ick, yuck, blech, gahhhhhh...anyone know how to do an at-home lobotomy?

Anyway, moving on from that unpleasantness...

The next day (?), the miscreants are allowed to leave the cramped shittiness of the tour bus and move into cushy hotel rooms, stocked full with all the booze one could ever hope for. Brazil Nut is in heaven with her bottle of tequila. She's like a chain smoker, except with shots. She's dancing around, whistling, doing cartwheels and you know what's coming next. That's right: vomit on the first episode!! A RoL first! And to make it even better, she staggers out of the bathroom, lurches up to Bret and Frenches him. Toilet seat to Bret's lips—this may be the best RoL episode ever!

After that traumatic experience, Bret pulls tomboy Beverly aside for some alone time and instantly takes to her when she says he's the only one on her free pass list, not including Edward Norton in American History X. Is that before or after the curb stomp scene, Bev? Of course, Bret doesn't ask that or any other important questions. He just immediately starts giving Bev a tongue bath.

Next Bret is accosted by Porn Girl, who looks like an even more broken down Jerry Hall, and who starts showering him with neediness. Last season, Inna the Tank introduced herself to Bret with the immortal line, "My father was never there and I just want someone to love me." Porny says essentially the same thing and adds, "If you want me to be bisexual, I will" which is even more pitiful. Bret actually interviews that she's coming off too needy and wisely gets the hell out of the situation ASAP.

After a couple more fights, it's elimination time, and The Thing is wearing a red bathing suit and can barely stand up. Bret says there's urgency in the elimination ceremony this year because "I have to be in Indianapolis by morning." Better get moving, Bret! It's a long haul from Louisville! To make it snappy, Bret calls the names of the girls on the chopping block and it's all the ladies that caused the most drama on this ep. Of the group, Bret decides to keep Brazil Nut and Porny around for another week, which means Gia's out and, goddammit, The Thing is gone! The Thing is splayed out on the floor of the studio while the PAs are tearing down the set around her. Two hapless assistants have to drag her off the set. Oh, Thing, no one will ever forget you. You and your test tube shots...

This season: boobs, ass painting, bikini hockey, boobs, Hatchet again, "bitch," "I'll knock your ass out," boobs, Mud Bowl 3, and big john saying "I specifically asked you guys not to be slutty." Happy new year!