Frightening Celeb Photo of the Day

Yuck. Check out this picture of Nicky Hilton, Paris' "classier" sister:


(image via pagesix.com)

Those bony knees look like something out of Shoah. And not in a good way.

Sorry, But I'm Just Not That Interested In Nicole Richie's Baby Pictures

The non-news has dried up this week. There are tumbleweeds blowing down TMZ avenue and a ghost town has popped up where Page Six used to be (the current headline reads, "Sean Preston and Jayden Get Haircuts." SIGH!

So instead of sweet, juicy gossip why not take a look at this article on Radar (thanks Jezebel!) called "No Country For Fat Chicks," which is a compendium of the most misogynist movies in recent years (including Bridget Jones' Diary and Superbad), and when you're done, peruse the "Red Carpet Doppelgangers" feature. I picked out a few of my favorites to whet your appetite:


Anne-Marie Duff (actress/wife of James McAvoy) and Amy Sedaris.


Felt Up future ex-husband Viggo Mortenson and Fidel Castro. Heh.


My personal favorite: Tilda Swinton and Eric Stoltz. Funny because it's true!

Hopefully, someone in the Spears family will get their act together and give birth to a two-headed baby while crawling out of a meth lab explosion or something next week. I can dream, can't I?

Penn Pal?

I have to admit that I was more interested in "Rock of Love 2: Rodeo Boogaloo" than the Oscars the other night, mainly because this year's Academy Awards were a snoozefest. With the exception of almost going into cardiac arrest during Javier Bardem's acceptance speech (especially the part en español!), I found the whole thing kind of boring and lame.

Anyway, because of the above, I didn't get around to addressing the big story out of the Oscars. No, not Rebecca Miller's heinous dress--I'm talking about perennial sleazeball Sean Penn dating famous-for-losing-her-fiance-in-the-tsunami Petra Nemcova, of course! Apparently the 47-year-old actor and the 28-year-old model, who met through her charity, were together all over the place this weekend, even though he's only been separated from his long-suffering, soon-to-be-sainted wife Robin Wright Penn for less than 2 months. So tacky!

Speaking of tacky, I have always found Ms. Nemcova, who showed up at last year's Oscars with British singer James Blunt, to be a bit of a sap. Sure, I feel sorry for her painful ordeal, but she's been milking that tsunami for all its worth for a while now. And I think she's rather silly looking, in a pageant queen sort of way. Sean Penn looks ridiculous with her, like an aging ghoul with a mail-order bride:



Sure, I think Sean Penn is a great actor. Sure, I'm looking forward to his portrayal of Harvey Milk and the potentially hot gay sex scenes with James Franco, Diego Luna, and/or Emile Hirsch. But that doesn't mean I want to spend the rest of my life watching his extended midlife crisis play itself out in the tabloids. He's well on the road to becoming the humorless, holier-than-thou, uncharming version of Jack Nicholson (whose randy old rascal shtick is rapidly working my last nerve, by the way). Can there be any worse thing on Earth? I mean, besides famine and war and stuff.

Those Poor Sows Were Wallowin' With Pigs

Howdy, ya'll, and welcome to your "Rock of Love" recap, Rodeo's Rodeo edition! This episode had as many ups and downs as a heaving, surgery-enhanced bosom on a runaway mule. The agony! The ecstasy! The total revulsion! Let's get right to it, shall we?


Rodeo!

**SPOILERS, AT THE DRIVE-IN**

**IN THE OLD MAN'S FORD**

**BEHIND THE BUSHES**

**UNTIL I'M SCREAMIN' FOR MORE**

So finally we get a reunion (albeit far too brief!) with fan favorite Rodeo, last season's lovable lunatic with a heart of gold, abs of steel, and numerous product lines, including, but not limited to, organic sausage, BBQ sauce, and workout wear. Oh, how we've missed you and your demonic cackle, Rodeo! She rides up on a horse, looking quite fetching with her western-wear encased bazooms, and tells the contestants that they look beautiful--not! Rodeo, you are a hoot. Of course the ostensible reason for her triumphant return is a contest for the skanks--a rodeo, natch, which is sort of complicated and involves some lassoin' and barrel racin' and such and will culminate in a yank-the-doo-rag-off-the-greased-pigs competition. Classy! Also, not demeaning in the slightest!

The contestants are divided up into two teams, and once again, Megan the Megabitch is not picked for either team, which she thinks is due to jealousy of her extreme hotness, but she forces herself upon the Blue Team, headed by Catherine, Our Lady of the Bad '80s Hairdo, who totally dooms herself with all her talk about horses being her life and how her very existence is dependent on winning this challenge. Also, she's Bret's age so she hasn't got a hope in hell. Inna The Love Tank, Daisy McTroutlips, and Poor Man's Rodeo Peyton make up the rest of the team.

The Red Team is captained by Ambre, Patron Saint of the Minivan, whose knees are all dinged up from the Mud Bowl football game, which was apparently the day before. Ouch! She picks Destiney, Jessica, and Kristy Joe. After the other events, the two teams are tied, so the pig wrasslin' is going to decide their fate. Inna is no slouch and gets the first bandanna; then Daisy enters the fray and is pretty much outsmarted by the pigs, whom she thinks must have "gone to college." I'm fairly certain that the dumbest pig in that pit was more intelligent than the smartest "Rock of Love" contestant. Jessica, the previously mute blonde who had spent approximately thirty seconds on camera thus far, gets the final doo-rag, so the Red Team wins, of course. Jessica is picked as MVP, so she gets the coveted "one-on-one" date with Bret Michaels. Catherine is thrown into paroxysms of grief, self-flagellation, rage, and despair, as is Peyton, who also judged herself a horsewoman of the highest caliber.


A meeting of the minds.

The rest of the Red Team gets ready for their group date by putting on some seriously whorish hooker outfits, especially Destiney, who looks like she stepped off the set of Sloots! The Musical! Their destination? A restaurant called Opaque where the patrons eat in total darkness, for some unknown reason. Just when you think you've seen this show go to a new low in dining concepts (lingerie store, beer-in-ceiling-tubes, Kristy Joe cooking at home) they manage to plumb new depths of retardedness. So in they go, led by their blind waiter, who should thank his lucky stars he can't see what is about to happen, unlike us. We are shown the room via night-vision cameras, which gives everything, especially Bret's face, a creepy green hue. During dinner, Ambre blah blah blahs obliviously about taking the kids to soccer practice or whatever she blathers on about, while Kristy Joe takes the opportunity to explore Bret's mouth with her tongue and pinch his nipples. It is beyond gross. Although she seems ready to get on her knees and service him under the table at one point, she makes a tactical error and begins to rough-house with Bret a bit and he starts to lose interest in Kristy Joe's odd "kickboxing" moves. He mentions in his post-date interview that you would think that he would get turned on by such behavior, but oddly, he does not. Wassa goin' on Bret? Is this an existential crisis? A cry for help? Hmmmm...Eventually the other girls realize that something is amiss, because Bret is not keeping up with Ambre's description of the fun she had taking the boys to Chuck E. Cheese the night before, and then the waiter comes back to ask if the "ladies" want to switch seats around. Destiney says hells to the yes and when she gets up, her slutwear is so short that we get a glimpse of blurred cooch when she stands up. I'm telling you, that waiter should thank sweet baby Jesus that he is blind.

At some point Kristy Joe stops socking Bret long enough to get up and go to the rest room with Destiney. Ambre takes the opportunity to shove her tongue down Bret's gullet. Need I say? It is gross. There is something so weird about Bret Michaels' face when he's en flagrante de makeout-ico; it's like his facial muscles go slack and he becomes corpselike. Yuck! Plus he's Frenching a lady who looks like she just rolled in from the suburbs to do a little shopping at Chico's.


Post-dinner makeout with Ambre.

Back at Skank Manor, the put-upon ladies drape themselves around to entice Bret, but he says he needs to "figure out" Kristy Joe, and by that he means do it with her until 4:30 in the morning. He interviews that he thinks she's "emotionally unstable," but, Bret being Bret, this is kind of a turn on. All the other contestants are scandalized by these goings-on, especially MC Daisy Fishface, who is shocked, shocked!, that Bret wants to do it with Kristy Joe so soon after their own holy, sacred hook-up of a mere 48 hours ago. It is simply more than her teensy tiny little brain can comprehend; perhaps one of the pigs can explain it to her?


Pre-sexing makeout with Kristy Joe.

The next morning, Catherine decides to take matters into her own, aged hands and makes breakfast for Bret while wearing a leopard-print nightie, thigh-high hosiery, and high heels. Megan snarks about Catherine being older than the hills; I want to scream that it's only OK for me to make Catherine Is Old jokes, you bitch! I aslo want to scream, "DON'T DO IT!" at Catherine, for this seems like a very, very bad idea, waking Bret up in the early hours o' the morn after he's been up all night making sweet, sweet passionate love to an eyebrowless crazy married lady and all. But in she stalks, and we see that yes, as we suspected all along, Bret Michaels sleeps in his doo-rag. He takes being woken up by his mother in an Elvira wig pretty well, all things considering, and of course it all leads to more making out. Revolting and slightly disturbing making out.


Post-breakfast makeout with Catherine.

Then it is time for Jessica's solo date. Surprise! You, milady, get to act like a dude on your romantic dream date with Bret! He whisks his maiden off to the desert, where they will play outdoor paintball in camofulage outfits (Bret even has a camo kerchief, yay!) against Big John, who apparently is a former Marine sniper. Who knew? Jessica is very game for these kinds of shenanigans and seems better at paintball than Bret. She also smooches him every chance she gets. Is anyone testing this man for oral herpes?

Later they eat, of course, amidst the paint pellets. She says that Bret makes her feel "safe," and this seems to be something of a turn-off (one of the few on Earth) for Bret, so she quickly backtracks and says, "safe in a strong way," the kind of "safe" that throws her on the bed and ravages her. Nice save, kid. And I do mean "kid." Jessica appears to be about 19 years old. Run, child! Run like the wind!


Post-paintball makeout with Jessica.

When they return, Peyton shoves a note into Bret's hand, and strangely this is never mentioned again. Daisy and Megan lounge in bikinis on lawn chairs in front of Bret's bedroom door, but he brushes them off to attend to urgent business, ie, hairplug maintenance and wig grooming. The girls manage to force in mini-makeout sessions before he leaves, though. Shudder!


Pre-elimination makeout with Daisy.


Post-Daisy-makeout with Megan.

Elimination time. Jessica gets the first pass, and she is thrilled. Then Bret says the next pass is for someone who is a skilled in-the-dark kisser and Kristy Joe gets all smug, but ha! He is referring to Housewife By Day/Unpaid Prostitute By Night Ambre! Then poor Peyton gets her hopes up when Bret says the next pass if for a "super hot rock chick," but alas, he is referring to Destiney. Does dressing like a stripper on crack make you a "rock chick"? Kristy Joe gets the next pass, and then Daisy and Megan, until it is down to Inna, Peyton, and Catherine.

Inna gets the last pass, so that means the two oldsters are goin' home. They could've saved everyone a lot of trouble by restricting the casting call for this show to "under 25 ONLY," since that is all Bret really wants. Boo, hiss! The two most interesting ladies are now gone. Peyton, we will miss your hard, chiseled looks and glistening body glitter. Catherine, your embarrassingly awesome '80s hairdo and white shoes with dark hose will live forever in our hearts. Adieu!

Death And The Maid. In Mahattan.

Lordy, kids, there has been NO GOOD GOSSIP lately! But lest you think I have abandoned ye all, here is some crapola that I scraped from the bottom of the non-news barrel.

First up, J. Lo finally had her twins, a boy and a girl. Yippee. Somehow that ghoul Marc Anthony was able to impregnate her with his pasty zombie seed. Those poor kids are going to have it rough, being of mixed race: Half wampyre and half diva. I don't envy them, no matter how much ridonkulous opulence they are surrounded with their entire lives. The world has made tremendous advances, but it can still be cruel to the spawn of the undead and the untalented.

Can you imagine what a nightmare patient J. Lo must be? I feel bad for the doctors and nurses and scented candle wranglers who had to be at her beck and call in the hospital, I really do.

As long as I live I will never understand people's endless fascination with celeb babies, but you can read all about the holy, sacred event over at People if you really need to. Check out this recent photo of the happy couple:



I don't mean to be ugly, but in her advanced pregnancy, J. Lo's face sort of resembles a tanner version of late-era Kathleen Turner. Have no fear, I'm sure she had all that puffiness sucked out during her Mend It Like Beckham and will be back to her over-the-top, non Turnerish self in no time. And we will have to endure endless photos in the tabloids of every pound dropped, every baby item purchased for months and months. Sigh!



In other lame non-news, Aaron Carter got busted right here in the great state of Texas for pot possession. TMZ reports that the little bro of Nick Carter from The Backstreet Boys was pulled over on I-10 in Junction for speeding and the police searched his car and found 2 ounces of reefer inside! That's kind of a lot, right? If I was Aaron Carter (or that puppy) I'd probably be pretty stoned most of the time myself, I have to admit. I don't know why anyone cares what happens to Aaron Carter, or any member of the Carter family, since they're not on a reality show anymore, but use this information in good health, dear readers. Here's hoping the celebs get up to some better hi-jinx next week!

PS
If you live in Texas, don't forget that early voting is ongoing until next Friday, Feb. 29th!

Gene Simmons In Sex Tape NO ONE Wants To See

Gene Simmons right after his facelift!

Ewwww! Apparently (and allegedly) there is a Gene Simmons sex tape floating around the intertubes! Yikes! From Valleywag (link NSFW):

"Watch the sex tape Gene doesn't want you to see," GenesSecret.com promises. The website purportedly hosts a NSFW sex tape of Kiss frontman Gene Simmons. Leave aside the question of whether anyone wants to see Simmons in flagrante. Does Simmons himself really object to the site? Nothing revives the Q factor of an aging rocker like a bit of scandal. Since he's no longer recording, just touring, he doesn't have a skittish label to appease. And thanks to the Internet, he doesn't have to rely on the tabloids to get his name out. Welcome to the age of DIY career makeovers.

It just gets worse and worse; in the still photos, the "star"--who certainly does look like Gene Simmons, I'm sorry to say--is wearing a t-shirt and no pants. EWWW!

I have a mantra that I chant every day of my life to help bring me inner peace and tranquility in this topsy-turvy world: "Thank God I'm not Shannon Tweed, Thank God I'm not Shannon Tweed," and today when I meditate in my sweat lodge, I think I'll chant that mantra a little longer than usual...

Like Liza On Crack

Sweet holy mother of God, it is difficult for me to process everything I've just seen on the season finale of "Nip/Tuck." I'm completely overstimulated, like a toddler gorged on candy who has wondered off into a surrealist psychedelic circus during Mardis Gras! AAAAAAAH! OK. Let's try to get through this together, shall we? According to the F/X announcer this was "the most shocking 'Nip/Tuck' yet," and for once, I think he just might be right!



**SPOILERS AHEAD**

**UNBELIEVABLY LURID,**

**TOTALLY INSANE**

**SPOILERS!!**

Previously on "Nip/Tuck": A montage of Miss Sharon Gless as ersatz agent/stalker/teddy bear enthusiast Colleen Rose killing actual agent Bob Levitz by teddy bearing him to death, working at the teddy bear Kiosk of Infamy, and bleeding from a self-inflicted wrist slashing; creepy Michael Jackson-lookalike Matt committing incest with his hitherto unknown half-sister, Emmy; and Julia getting shot in the head by evil conniving teenage sloot Eden.

Huzzah! It's Miss Jennifer Coolidge in the doctors' office. She dislikes her misshapen boobs, nicknamed, I think, "Gail" and "Bozina" (anyone know the reference? I got bupkis on Google, although it doesn't really matter, it's still funny) and describes herself as a "human Leaning Tower of Piza" because one tata is much larger than the other. She says that her startled-looking eyes give her a "deer caught in the headlights look," and that overall she resembles "Liza on crack." (AWESOME.) She got all this work done in Thailand because she didn't want the tabloids to know, which prompts Dr. Christian Troy to say, "I'm sorry, I have no idea who you are." She replies huffily that she is a "goddamned icon," and Dr. Sean McNamara helpfully reminds him that she is the actress named Candy Richards who played "Pussy Lips," ie the character who had to have her vaginal lips attached to her mouth ealier in the season, on "Hearts & Scalpels." An outraged Candy Richards tells the docs: "I've had a recurring role on every nighttime drama since Judging goddamn Amy! How can I play a supreme court judge with one oversized tit and a popeye?" How, indeed? They agree to fix her botched Thai plastic surgery.

In the operating room "Fame" by David Bowie is playing in the background (AWESOME.) Dr. Christian Troy tells Dr. Sean McNamara that he is taking acting lessons, but suddenly the police show up and Dr. Christian Troy leaves to talk to them. When he comes back he says, "Julia's been shot."

Cut to evil conniving sloot Eden, who is with her mother Olivia and Dr. Sean McNamara while a policewoman questions her. Eden lies that Julia shot herself because she was "hideous" and a "burden" to everyone. She also lies that she was just about to call 911 when she pulled the trigger. The cop says, yeah, the angle of the bullet wound was kind of "funny," and Eden lies that this is because she tried to grab the gun. Dr. Sean McNamara is having none of this and pretty much accuses Eden of shooting Julia, but Olivia goes into Protective Mommie mode and tells him that he had no idea how depressed Julia had become and that she was totally capable of trying to commit suicide.

Over at the hospital, we see that Julia is alive but unconscious in the ICU. Dr. Sean McNamara tells Dr. Christian Troy about his suspicions regarding Eden, but Dr. Christian Troy thinks Julia was morose over being dumped by Dr. Christian Troy and probably did try to kill herself. Julia's doctor comes in with x-rays and there's a lot of medical blah blah mumbo jumbo blah blah long-term damage, and the bottom line is that even though the bullet did not penetrate her brain, she will be mightily effed up and also in a coma for an unknown length of time. Bummer. (I'm really surpised they didn't kill Julia off; I'd read that in real life Natasha Richardson had an ill child and so I thought for sure they were using this as a way of writing her off the show.) There is no mention by any medical personnel that Julia is also suffering from conniving-sloot-induced mercury poisoning.

Back at the office, Dr. Christian Troy is interviewing a woman named Darlene who is in a wheelchair and has no legs below the knees. Darlene says that although he probably doesn't remember, back in 1982 she was a cocktail waitress at The Sand Dab in Fort Lauderdale and they had a fling during his spring break from colllege. He replies that "I would've remembered someone as dynamic as you" and she calls him on it and says, yeah, she didn't lose her legs to diabetes until 1998. Heh. She saw his picture in Playgirl (AWESOME) and tracked him down and yadda yadda she had his baby who grew up into Emmy who is now sleeping with his creepy son Matt!

Dr. Sean McNamara's daughter is in his office and apparently in the dark about her mother being shot, because he tells her that he will always, always be there for her (foreshadowing?!) and she's all, "What's wrong? Is it Mommy?" but before he can tell her we hear Colleen Rose's terrifying voice and her Exorcist-y theme music swelling up in the background! AAAAAAAH! She starts waving around her scarred wrists and Dr. Sean McNamara is yelling that he took out a restraining order against her and she's deranged and screeching about how she won't be able to open up a bed and breakfast (heh!) unless he fixes her scars and when he tries to call the cops she yanks the phone off the desk and she warns that he'll be sorry for doing this to her and finally they hustle her out the door and Dr. Christian Troy rather unkindly, but accurately, calls her a freak.

Next we see Emmy and creepy Matt and her mother and Dr. Christian Troy sitting around a table. Matt can't believe she told her mom that they slept together, and I can't believe a) that anyone, even a fictional character, would touch creepy Matt with a ten foot pole and b) that he manages to somehow look even creepier with a beard, but he does. Dr. Christian Troy tells Matt: "I can't believe I have to say this, but you can't sleep with your sister again!" (AWESOME.) Creepy Matt starts blathering about how they felt this intense connection and Dr. Christian Troy shoots back, "Yeah, it's called DNA!" Heh. He goes on to say that every decision Matt has ever made is "batshit crazy," and Dr. Christian Troy may be many things, but wrong about Matt he ain't. Creepy Matt refuses to believe that he and Emmy are, in fact, related, so the mom hands over papers with bloodwork that she and Dr. Christian Troy had done on themselves and then matched against Emmy and Matt's medical records and it's totes incest, Matt! Emmy is quite the naif and "wants to be a family." Matt can't take it and runs off to have an "intense connection" with Julia's coma.

On the set of a cruelly Oliver Platt- and Bradley Cooper-free "Hearts & Scalpels," Dr. Sean McNamara's character on the show is trying valiantly to remove a camera that has been imbedded in a paparrazo's rectum after trying to take Russell Crowe's picture. (AWESOME.) Dr. Sean McNamara says, "Let's try and save that camera, it's a damn good Leica," then he looks down to recieve the scalpel from the nurse/actress when he notices a big ole scar on the "nurse"'s wrist and of course that means it's Colleen Rose who hands him the scalpel while scary Exorcist music plays ominously! AAAAAAAH! She has infiltrated the sacred ground of the "Hearts & Scalpels" set! Where is Freddie Prune? He would never have stood for this! She says, very frighteningly, "You know I never take no for an answer!" and then security forces drag her off. AAAAAAAAAAH!

Emmy's mom Darlene and Dr. Christian Troy are getting drunk together and laughing. He says that, ironically, "the only one of my three children that I actually take care of is the one that isn't mine!" (ie adorable Wilbur). Darlene bemoans her loss of looks and legs over the years; he says rather gallantly, "I can't remember doing you, but I can see why I did," but she starts crying and says she feels that she could be an "8," but without her legs she's a "4." He says, "You're beautiful! A little weathered around the edeges, but beautiful!" and then he kisses her and BAM! Cut to amputee sex!!! (AWESOMEAWESOMEAWESOME!) Obviously every sentient being watching this show saw this coming from a mile away the second she rolled into his office, but the sight of those stumps splayed out under his body was gloriously, magnificently, and unfathomably satisfying. Oh, "Nip/Tuck," how you spoil me for other shows! Nothing can ever live up to this level of sleaze!

Afterwards Dr. Christian Troy, his hair looking extremely Julius Caesar-y, asks Darlene if he has to order her a "special cab" because of her lack of legs and whatnot, and this leads to her revealing that she drinks a twelve-pack of beer every night because she's depressed. (Are diabetics supposed to drink like this? Shouldn't she be dead?) She wants him to operate on her face so she can get back some of the youthfulness she lost raising his illegitimate daughter/future banger of his creepy son. He agrees to give her a face lift.

Back at the office, Jennifer Coolidge, AKA Candy Richards, is doing ballet moves in front of a mirror and calling herself "the bomb." Apparently she has won the coveted role as a Russian ballerina on "The Ghost Whisperer" and needs to practice her moves. Dr. Sean McNamara tells her to get in bed, and just then a man walks in who turns out to be agent/human teddy bear Bob Levitz' life partner, and he's looking for answers about Bob's sudden disappearance. It seems he doesn't buy Colleen Rose's cover story e-mail that she sent out about Bob's sudden urge to go to Darfur and help the refugees. He says, "Humanitarian? We don't even recycle!" Heh. He's gone to the police but they don't believe him; Dr. Sean McNamara eventually realizes that Bob's life partner suspects foul play. Oh, it was foul, all right!

Cut to Dr. Sean McNamara talking on the phone at home, walking around his house...he opens up his closet door and out falls the nightmarish Bob Levitz Teddy Bear! Horrible bear eyes! AAAAAAAAH!

Dr. Sean McNamara and Dr. Christian Troy discuss the untimely demise of Bob Levitz thusly: "She stuffed him? What a horrible way to go!" I'll say. Dr. Christian Troy blames "Hearts & Scalpels" and says that Dr. Sean McNamara has been blinded by his 15 minutes of fame, etc etc. A policeman mentions that Colleen has fled to Mexico but that with their contacts with the policia, she may turn up.

During Darlene's facelift the doctors get into it some more about the lust for fame and showbiz and blah blah blah; finally nurse Liz steps in and gives them a pep talk about how talented they are etc etc. Then we find out that Julia has awakened from her coma and we see that conniving sloot Eden is scared that the jig is up. She begs Olivia, "You have to help me, Mommie!" It is implied that she confesses to Olivia about shooting Julia.

Jennifer Coolidge/Candy Richards is all dressed up in a slinky dress and giant hat and sunglasses and she tells the doctors that the paparazzi are swarming outside to take post-op photos of her leaving the office. She does not want them to block her "big exit," and says she called ahead to arrange it all. But when she goes outside for her close-up, the paps don't take her picture and instead mob Dr. Sean McNamara, yelling quesitons about Colleen Rose and his wife's shooting. Poor Candy!

At the hospital a guilty-looking Olivia is talking to Julia, but after she doesn't recognize her daughter, we find out that Julia has suffered retrograde amnesia and doesn't know who anyone is or remember anything about her life. Well, thank heaven for small miracles, I say! Later, when they are alone, Dr. Sean McNamara asks to look at her stitches and Julia asks if he is a doctor and if so, is that how they know each other, and he says that he's her husband. Then he tells her that they were college sweethearts and she asks if they are still married and he starts lying his ass off, saying "we're as happy now as we were then and everything is perfect, we have three beautiful children," la-dee-da, conveniently leaving out the parts about one of the beautiful children having a lobster claw, her pre-marital affair with Dr. Christian Troy that led to creepy incestuous Matt's birth, their raising Matt as Dr. Sean McNamara's son until the truth finally came out, her numerous affairs (lesbian, hetero, and dwarf), their separation and near-divorce, and of course his affair with her lesbian lover's teenage conniving sloot daughter who is the person who poisoned her with mercury-tainted fruitcake before shooting her in the head.

Dr. Christian Troy takes Julia and Dr. Sean McNamara's daughter out for hamburgers and tries to cheer her up a bit, when suddenly their car is surrounded by papparazzi. Sadly for him they don't want Dr. Christian Troy's picture, just the kid's, because she's related to Dr. Sean McNamara. He tries to escape and BAM! They are hit on the passenger side by a fast-moving car! Is the daughter OK?

Back at Incest Manor, Emmy is getting ready to go fly home to Georgia or wherever she's from. For some extremely unbelievable reason, she totally wants to do it with him one more time for the road, but he's trying to go against his nature and be mature and adult. He says that eventually perhaps they can be more sibling-y, but at the moment their feelings are "so strong" that it's not safe for them to be around each other. Ewww. Emmy semi-jokingly says, "It's not like we'd be the only inbreds in the mountains where I come from! You could work in the coal mine and I could pull out all my teeth!" As tempting as this sounds, even creepy, crazy Matt is not quite "ready for the Appalachian lifestyle just yet." He opens the door to leave and she kisses him and he's all into it (gag)...and it's ambiguous as to whether or not he really leaves!

It turns out that Dr. Christian Troy broke his collar bone in the car accident, and he's worried that Dr. Sean McNamara is mad at him, but he's more mad at himself for getting caught up in the pursuit of fame and glory and all the Hollywood stuff and says he has called Freddie Prune to get out of his "Hearts & Scalpels" contract. Nooooooooooooooooooooo! Say it ain't so! Dr. Sean McNamara's daughter is lying on the nearby surgery table this whole time; she's all right but has a big gash on her head that he's going to operate on. Just before he leaves, Dr. Christian Troy says, "Everyone is going to be OK." Uh oh.

"Fame" by David Bowie is playing again during the surgery. Nurse Liz goes to another room to get gauze and tape...and clearly someone else comes back instead...who is it?...could it be? ...yes, it's Colleen Rose! AAAAAAAAAAAAH! She proceeds to stab Dr. Sean McNamara repeatedly with a giant cleaver!!! OMG. WTF. Dr. Sean McNamara is lying on the floor with his eyes open in a pool of blood, with more blood oozing and bubbling out of his mouth. And scene. Fade to black.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what people in show business call an emmer-effing cliffhanger! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! This show turns me into a Roman Catholic every time! I can't stop beseeching the Holy Spirit for guidance! Is Dr. Sean McNamara dead? Was it all a dream? At least he didn't get turned into a Teddy Bear! Are Matt and Emmy running off to Butcher Holler to live their dreams of being an incestuous coal-mining couple? Will Julia regain her memory? How far will Olivia go to cover for Eden? Is the daughter going to survive being left alone on the operating table? What happened with Darlene's facelift? Is Liz OK? Will we ever see the lobster claw baby again? And most importantly, HOW IN THE HELL AM I GOING TO BE ABLE TO WAIT GOD KNOWS HOW MANY MONTHS UNTIL THIS SHOW COMES BACK ON WITH SOME ANSWERS?

Frightening Celeb Photo of the Day

Eek! Courteney Cox has gotten waaay gaunt! She has that over-muscled/scary skinny Madonna/Crypt Keeper thing going on that is sooooo aging.

"After/Before" images via ohnotheydidnt via The WOW Report:





While we're on the subject of Cox, is anyone going to watch "Dirt" when it starts airing again on F/X? I can't decide. I had such high hopes for that show, but they were dashed--dashed, I say!--by last season's somehow lackluster, unenthusiastic embrace of over-the-top trashiness. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll probably watch it here and there and be mildly disappointed but eventually see every single episode twice, somehow or another.

Footballs And Boobies and Bret, Oh My!

(all photos via vh1.com)

Whassa goin' on? Did my poor readers think I'd forsaken them and forgotten to post a wee re-cap of "Rock of Love 2"? Never fear, skanks! I wouldn't leave you all in the mud, shivering, bloodied, distraught, and confused--unlike some follicularly-challenged former Poison singers I could mention! Let's get thee to a rockery!

**SPOILERS AHEAD**

**AIN'T NOTHIN'**

**BUT A GOOD TIME**

**FOR SPOILERS**



It is time for the "ladies" of the house to get down-n-dirty--and I mean that literally, not just by showing their boobs or giving blow-jays to Bret Michaels or whatnot. Yes, it's "Mud Bowl II," the touch football contest that has a high probability of turning Bret on. The contestants divide into two teams--"The Fallen Angels" and "The Sweethearts," both of which sound like titles for some long-lost early '80s teen sex dramedies starring Kristy McNichol and/or Jodie Foster--and put on teensy, tiny itty-bitty wittle outfits that offer all the protection of a Victorian child's hankie and then are pummeled with large amounts of fake rain, snow, and wind. The girls stand around in the muck like a bunch of startled, bedraggled faun. Albeit faun with big fake boobs, tramp stamps, trout lips, and bad extensions. Let the fun begin!

The game quickly evolves into a battle of wills between The Sweethearts' soccer mom-ish Ambre and Our Lady of the Deformed Mouth Labia, Daisy, from The Fallen Angels. Ambre has surprising skills--perhaps learned while ferrying her boys to Pee Wee Football practice in the minivan--and makes two touchdowns. Despite being called both a "tank" and a "bus" by always-classy Bret, Inna Gadda Da Vida is sadly unable to play football in any way, shape or form. Miraculously, missing eye-brow-sufferer Kristy Joe of The Fallen Angels makes a touchdown, and then Daisy starts straterginizing and then somehow her teammate Inna manages to make a touchdown.

The game goes into Sudden Death Overtime. At first it looks like Ambre is going to make her third touchdown, but she slips in the mud and fumbles the ball, and Daisy is all over it like a doo-rag on Bret Michaels' head..and touchdown! Daisy has now scored in Bret's bedroom and on the field!

Of course the winning team gets a group date with Bret, and the MVP, who is Daisy, gets a one-on-one. Catherine, who bears a striking resemblance to Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, interviews that she "wants to die." Way to keep things in perspective there, lady! Poor Ambre is a mess of cuts and bruises and yet she remains chipper; maybe she's thinking about making some cookies and having a koffee klatch with the other moms when she gets back to her cul-de-sac?

What romantic dream date is Daisy rewarded with? Why, a trip to the trashy lingerie store so that she can continue to work what little ass she has for Bret's amusement! Seriously, he has her try on a bunch of cheap, tacky lingerie and sashay around in it for him and has the nerve to call this a "date." And they say chivalry is dead! Although like the sad deluded show pony she is, it does seem as though Daisy enjoys prancing.


Ack!

They set up a table right in the store and have dinner....and here is where Daisy--who up until this point was doing pretty well, what with doing it with Bret, winning the MVP award, and embodying a deranged idiot's ideal of what porno-sexy is supposed to look like and all--totally blows it! Her crime? She asks too many damn questions during din-din. "Do you like to read? Do you like movies? Do you watch tv? Do you like to travel?" etc etc. She doesn't wait for his answers, and although it does seem a touch annoying, really she just sounds nervous and is trying hard to make conversation; Bret acts like she is a human nail on a giant chalkboard and is so bored with her that he decides to tune her out completely and daydream about her in the naughty oufits.


Where it all goes horribly wrong for Daisy.

Back at the House That Skank Built, NOTE-GATE is underway. Peyton, the poor man's Rodeo, has worked herself up into a tizzy because she hasn't had any of that coveted "alone time" with Bret. So she writes him a note, which says something poetical like "IT IS URGENT THAT I SPEAK 2 U!" and puts it on his door. Megan, the tall blonde that just may be the evilest person on the show, has her own note for Bret, and when she sees Peyton's she just rips it right off. Then Peyton starts to worry that maybe the note is a bad move, so she goes back to re-read it, but of course it is missing and only Megan's note is there. Peyton, because although she may not be a brain surgeon she's also not retarded or blind, suspects Megan and asks her about it; Megan plays innocent. Peyton writes another note and sticks it in the crack of Bret's door, thinking this is safer, but as soon as she's gone, back pops Megan, who pulls the note out and gets rid of it. Megan is like a character on "Nip/Tuck," but she's real! Well, sort of real. Reality TV real. Poor Peyton is no match for this level of conniving schemery!


Note-gate!

Daisy and Bret come home and Daisy rushes off to change into some of the 'ho fashions that Bret bought her at the lingerie store. Then everyone plays pool, and Catherine, Mistress of the Power '80s Hairdo, announces that if she makes a certain shot she wins five minutes alone with Bret. She makes the shot and off they go to his room where they full-on make out and it is so utterly disturbing in a way I can't quite define! Daisy tries to interrupt the tongue kissing sesh, but is turned away, much to her shock.


Eeeeeew.

The next day the rest of the winning football team--Kristy Joe, Inna, and Destiney--get their group date. This week's Bret "I Want To Date Myself With Boobs" boy date is at a racetrack, where the girls have to get into tight Charlie's Angels-esque racing suits that, I must say, are far more flattering and hot than the skimpy football outfits had been, especially on Inna, who can barely contain her admiration when she says that Bret pulls up "in a hot-ass Lotus." Destiney and Kristy Joe are able to get the car around the track well enough, but Inna can't drive a stick; she wisely plays up this fact to get some extra car time with Papa Bret.

They eat lunch trackside, and Bret starts gossiping about the ladies on the show and how some people are not honest and have boyfriends at home, etc., and for some unknown reason Kristy Joe takes this opportunity to start in on how difficult it is for her to talk to her ex-husband, that they have to e-mail each other because they are at each other's throats, and at this point everyone who was with me watching the show decided we had to rewind this part several times as we tried, in vain, to figure out if she was a) dumb, b) developmentally disabled, or c) deaf-- because why in the world would anyone start discussing the multiple restraining orders they have on their current and ex-husbands immediately after Bret, their ostensible love target, has just bemoaned the cheating, dishonest ways of the contestants on the show? But she blathers on and on, and interviews to the camera that she thinks "laying her cards on the table" is the best policy. We'll see!

Back at the house, Peyton manages to corral Bret into his room to have a lil' talk; she promptly bursts into tears. Wassa goin' on, Peyton? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? Then she asks him point blank if he's attracted to her at all, and he gives this convoluted answer about them being rock buddies but then says they might turn into friends who sometimes do it. Or something. It was confusing. But the bottom line seems to be that no, he is not all that attracted to Peyton. I don't mean to sound cruel, but I can't really blame him. Once you've enjoyed the prime grade A beef that was Rodeo, why would you want a hamburger patty like Peyton? She doesn't even have a line of work-out clothing or bar-b-cue sauce or an Olympic diving medal or anything! I'm just sayin'.

Elimination time. Ambre is rewarded for her hard work and bruised, battered body with the first pass of the evening. She seems pleased. Destiney and Kristy Jo are next. Then it's mean ole Megan, and much to Peyton's gall, Bret praises Megan for being the only one who took the time to write him a note! Peyton is, reasonably enough, fit to be tied. After her unsettling make-out party with Bret, Catherine and her incredibly dated hair are safe. That leaves Peyton and Daisy!

Peyton, who has been told by Bret that he's not that attracted to her (we think?) is a nervous wreck. Daisy, who has both had sex and shared the intimacy of buying slutwear with Bret, is a confused wreck. What did she do wrong, she wonders? Oh, Daisy. You should have kept those ginormous freaky trout lips closed during your romantic lingerie store dinner! Not while you were eating, of course, because that would be impossible, but in between bites. Whatever, just don't ask Bret a bunch of boring questions! (Which goes against all dating advice, by the way. Men are supposed to love nothing more than talking about themselves, but Bret is a loner, a rebel. And Daisy's questions did not keep him as entertained as her boobs did.)


Peyton, lookin' a little rough.



Daisy, lookin' a little like a bewildered carp.

Peyton gets a pass. She is thrilled. Daisy looks like her tiny brain might explode inside her wacked-out be-surgered skull. And then Bret pulls a fast one! He decides to let Daisy stay, too! No one is going home this week! WHA..? No elimination? Is that even legal in California, Bret Michaels?

Apparently next week two girls will go home! And the most exciting part of all: There will be a rodeo with RODEO in charge! Yee-ha! Health sausage all around!

Paris Has Gone To The Dogs

Sigh. I hate slow non-news days. And for some reason, the only thing vaguely, kind of, sorta interesting is another Chihuahua-related story, this time involving...Paris Hilton. Bleh! According to Us Weekly:

The Los Angeles Department of Animal Services visited the heiress' home earlier this week to investigate a complaint about her owning 17 dogs, TMZ.com reports.

By law, a non-breeder in L.A. is only allowed to own three dogs per address.

A Department of Animal Services spokesman said that Hilton - or her pets - were not home when they visited, according to TMZ.

The critically panned Hottie and the Nottie star, 27 — who has been in Las Vegas celebrating the launch of her Paris Hilton Collection — admitted she owned all the pooches on The Ellen DeGeneres Show Monday.

"I have 17 dogs — lots," she said. "They all sleep in my bed - well, not all of them, but I let some of them."

Hilton said she has so many dogs because "they keep having babies, and I feel bad about giving them away."

When DeGeneres asked Hilton why she didn't just get the dogs neutered, she said that they all now were "fixed," but later added, "well, two of them weren't."

Well, just when I thought I couldn't possibly loathe Paris Hilton or think she's more retarded than I already do, she goes and does something idiotic and despicable like this. You just know those 17 dogs are completely abandoned for days at a time and are barely taken care of and running amok in their own filth and piles of cocaine and hundred dollar bills and glitter and K-Y jelly and tacky shoes; I imagine it's totally a canine Lord of the Flies in that house, but with more pink decor and bad smells. Eww. And ARGH!

Can't Bai Me Love, Or Batteries

Here's a wee round-up of some non-news stories floating around the intertubes today...



First up, today it was revealed in Us Weekly that "actress" Bai Ling, Our Lady of Eternally Hideous 'Ho Outfits, was arrested for shoplifting $16 worth of crap at LAX:

Sergeant Jim Holcomb of the Los Angeles Airport police division, tells Usmagazine.com: "Bai Ling was arrested Wednesday afternoon at 4:30 p.m. for shoplifting at the Crews of [California] gift store located in terminal one at Los Angeles International Airport.

"A private persons arrest was made by a store employee after Ling allegedly took two Star magazines along with two packs of triple A batteries totaling about $16 and left the store without paying.

“LAX airport police transported Ling to Pacific Station, where she was booked for misdemeanor shoplifting and released on her promise to appear in court on March 5, 2008.

Ooooh, I bet Us Weekly hates it that she stole Star! You can't buy that kind of classy publicity! I wonder if she was broke or thrill-seeking or is a compulsive thief or just thinks she's "above" paying for the little stuff. Hard to say...unlike Winona Ryder, she doesn't have much of a career to worry about ruining, since she mainly exists so that Go Fug Yourself can make fun of her clothing--or lack thereof--and those ladies certainly won't mind a little harmless shoplifting. In fact, they'll probably be excited about it, just like I am!



Next, it seems that the world may end because Jane Fonda said the ole "c-word" on the "Today" show this morning! Heh. She was talking about--shudder--The Vagina Monologues and dropped the c-bomb:

Jane Fonda may be 70, but she's not too old to have her mouth washed out with soap.

No stranger to controversy, the actress used a vulgar word to describe a body part on Thursday morning's Today show – which later prompted a statement of apology from the program's cohost, Meredith Vieira.

Fonda and The Vagina Monologues playwright Eve Ensler were having a Valentine's Day conversation with Vieira about the 15th anniversary of Ensler's best-known work – and the 10th anniversary of "V-Day," founded by Ensler to end violence against women and girls around the world – when Fonda let the "c-word" slip.

"We were talking about The Vagina Monologues and Jane Fonda inadvertently said a word from the play that you don't say on television," Vieira said after a newsbreak on Today. "It was a slip and obviously she apologizes, and so do we. We would do nothing to offend the audience. So please accept that apology."

There is something a bit sad about having to apologize for a word that is used in a play that celebrates all the glories and wonders of the va-jay-jay...on the other hand, the "c-word" is one of my least favorite words. There is no male equivalent! Boo, hiss!

Gawker has the video here.




And finally, a sad note, as Variety reports the death of David Groh, on whom I had a short-lived but seminal childhood crush when he played Valerie Harper's husband Joe Gerard on "Rhoda," a show that will always be in my Top Ten of All Time Favorites:

Actor, director and producer, David Groh, best known as the husband of TV's "Rhoda," died of kidney cancer Tuesday in Los Angeles. He was 68.

During the mid-'80s, the curly-haired Groh played the nefarious D.L. Brock on "General Hospital," and his nearly 40 year career encompassed film, television and theater roles...

On Broadway, he starred in Neil Simon's "Chapter Two" and Jon Tolin's "Twlight of the Golds."

His wedding to "Rhoda" star Valerie Harper was a highly rated TV event at the time, and when the characters divorced, viewers sent in letters of condolence thinking the divorce was real...

During the last few years, he appeared in several independent films, and was developing the film "Lower East Side Story," with his wife, actress Kristin Andersen.

He taught Method acting at the Strasberg Institute for almost 20 years, and was a lifetime member of the Actor's Studio.

What they don't mention is that Rhoda's marriage to Joe was one of the most famous ratings killers in TV history. The wedding itself was the highmark--the ratings went through the roof for that episode, something like 50 million people watched Rhoda running through the subway and all over Brooklyn in her wedding dress--but then immediately viewers hated it that they were married, so the producers made them get a hasty divorce which kind of made no sense, at least in terms of being true to the story and characters.

As much as I loved Joe, I loved Rhoda's sister Brenda, played with her usual brilliance by Julie Kavner (aka Marge Simpson) even more. On "The Mary Tyler Moore Show," Rhoda had been the chubby, sarcastic sidekick, but then Valerie Harper lost a ton of weight; on "Rhoda," it fell to Brenda to be the chubby sadsack, and I adored her for it. There was a great episode where their mother, played by the great Nancy Walker, can't get Brenda to wake up, so she whispers, "Brenda, french toast!" and Brenda springs out of bed, just like I would have done. Oh, "Rhoda," how I've missed you so! Carlton the Doorman! Gary the Denim King! Nick Lobo! Sigh....RIP David Groh, my first-ever mancrush...it all seems so long ago, and yet just yesterday.

Is Valentine's Day over yet?

The Food, The Dad, And The Ugly

Once again "Nip/Tuck" managed to shock and awe, although these last few episodes have lacked a certain joie de vivre that I think I can pinpoint: Not enough Bradley Cooper or Oliver Platt! Bring them back, "Nip/Tuck," for the love of everything that is unholy! Still, they did manage to pack in a fair amount of absolutely ridiculous shenanigans, and for that, as always, I am eternally grateful. And entertained.



**SPOILERS AHEAD!**

**TELL ME WHAT YOU DON'T LIKE...**

**...ABOUT YOUR SPOILERS**

Previoulsy on "Nip/Tuck," conniving teenage sloot Eden has poisoned Julia's fruitcake, and hideous Michael Jackson-lookalike Matt has gotten a disease from the first girl he slept with, fallen in love with a transgendered life coach, picked up and nearly beaten to death another transgendered lady, fallen in love with a neo-Nazi, fallen in love and had a child with his father's ex-fiancee who got him into the porn business, Scientology, and crystal meth, blown himself up in a crystal meth lab explosion, and fallen in love with Rachel, his severely burned Israeli therapist.

The theme of this week's show is ugliness, in all its forms. Ugliness inside and out. Both kinds. Got it?

We open on lesbian nurse Liz reading a bad review of Dr. Sean McNamara from August Walden, a writer for Entertainment Weekly (heh!). Dr. Christian Troy is delighted, especially when Walden calls Dr. Sean McNamara a "milque toast" and "puddle of mediocrity" whose head looks like a "cardboard box on shoulders." Dr. Sean McNamara walks in and clearly feels down on himself; when Dr. Christian Troy finds him looking at himself critically in the mirror he advises him to get over it by reading ten good reviews: "That's what I do on the rare occassion that some hot lady doesn't want to do the horizontal shuffle with me--I fill my dance card with ten more."

Cut to the doctors working on Rachel, creepy Matt's Israeli burn victim therapist/girlfriend, whom Dr. Christian Troy calls "falafel face." Dr. Sean McNamara is concerned that Matt and Rachel are getting too serious as a couple, so afterwards they show Matt a series of photos so that he can see how little improvement has been made to Rachel's appearance over the course of six surgeries. Matt is incensed! They are obsessed with looks! They've messed with so many faces that he doesn't think they "even know what ugly looks like anymore!" (Uh, they're looking at you, Matt, so they probably have a pretty good idea!) Dr. Christian Troy rather awesomely says, "I don't care if she shits solid gold," but he thinks Matt has no idea how difficult it is to be burdened by someone who isn't in tip-top shape, ie, he's also talking about his relationship with sick-as-a-dog Julia! Matt storms off in a huff!

Next we're in Dr. Christian Troy's office and he's got a young woman with a giant port wine birthmark on her face. She talks about how she Googled him on the ole interwebs (Alarm bells! Ding! Ding!) and how it's great that they have the same sense of humor (Ding! Ding!). He's genial and charming until she gets to the part about the Hedda Grubman Fund for free plastic surgery for people who can't afford it. He tries to weasel his way out of it, but she cries and has a southern accent and says she spent her last penny getting to the office and her mom calls her "The Scarlet Letter" because she's her punishment for having had a one-night stand with a stranger (Dingdingdingdingding!), and so he agrees to do her surgery for free.

Yay! Back on the set of "Hearts & Scalpels"! The Tub Shitter (aka Kate, fellow actress on the show/former fiancee of Dr. Sean McNamara/severe food issue sufferer/hot tub laxative-induced explosion maker) commiserates with him about the bad review. She knows where the mean writer does his work, at a certain coffee shop, and she encourages Dr. Sean McNamara to go down there and "rip him a new one." So off he goes to confront August Walden, Esq., and he discovers that Walden is a man with giant ears, a unibrow, a huge bulbous nose, boils, scars, effed up teeth, and enormous ears. Damn they've got good make-up people on this show! I kept thinking that underneath all that stuff it might be George Clooney or someone, but sadly, 'twas not. Anyway, Dr. Sean McNamara confronts the poor man and says, "Now I get it! You're so eaten up with jealousy because of your own extraordinary ugliness that only making other people feel badly can make you feel better!" Deep!

We shift over to sadsack poisoning victim and sometime lesbian Julia putting on some much-needed under-eye concealer. You should get it in bulk at Costco, Julia! Her hands are shaking and as she brushes her hair a giant clump falls out and she looks rightfully horrified. Then to add insult to injury she goes to her lovah Dr. Christian Troy's house to find him doing it with some girl he picked up at a gas station. Cue talk about his extreme bastardiness and the sad truth that they were both disappointed that reality had fallen so short of their fantasies of what being together would be like. Or something. The main point of this scene is for Julia to say, "Only now do I see how ugly you really are!" and by that she means deep down in his soul. She regrets blowing it with her lovah Olivia and although Dr. Christian Troy wants to remain friends, she replies that she might forgive him but can never forget that he left her in the lurch her time of need!

Back at the office, Dr. Sean McNamara is having a consultation with the writer, August Walden, who has written a damning review of his own face that he reads out loud. When Dr. Sean McNamara apologizes for calling him Hideous McFugly at the coffee shop, August Walden insists that he is thankful because he's in love with a barrista at the cafe and wants a new face with which to woo her. At first Dr. Sean McNamara is worried about a conflict of interest blah blah blah, but when August Walden promises to write a new review of "Hearts & Scalpels" and describe Dr. Sean McNamara as a "young Gary Cooper," it is done and done.

Dr. Christian Troy walks into a recovery room to discover Port Wine Emmy making the bed, and she says she has to find some way of paying back the favor of the free surgery. Gee, do you think sex will somehow be involved? She tells him that she was called "Swamp Thing" in high school and has never had a boyfriend in her life. He takes her to the mirror and of course she is very pretty.

Surgery time! August Walden is getting operated on by Dr. Sean McNamara to an olden-timey song about "The Ugly Duckling." Heh.

Dr. Christian Troy and Emmy meet his creepy son Matt in the hallway; Matt has flowers for his Israeli burn victim therapist/girlfriend. Dr. Christian Troy is clearly trying to set up Emmy with Matt but he's having none of it. He loves his girlfriend! They're going to watch a dvd of Munich together! (I almost peed my pants laughing at that line.) He's learning Hebrew! Dr. Christian Troy is appalled and spits out, "You'll take any kind of Kool-Aid a girl will feed you, eh?" And the answer to that is yes, Dr. Christian Troy, he will! And ask for seconds!

Olivia, who has been away somehere while her girlfriend cheated with Dr. Christian Troy, walks in to her house and finds Julia in bed looking sicksicksick. She finds out about the hair falling out and she's all, "I missed you, Julia, I'm not going to let anything happen to you, you're my angel" and is basically the anti-Dr. Christian Troy, so of course Julia, being Julia, comes right back with, "I've been having an affair with Dr. Christian Troy, but it's over, finally, for reals, blah blah blah." Olivia forgives her and says she is sending off the hair to some lab out of state to find out what is wrong with Julia.

(FYI: During the ad for the new movie Witless Protection starring Larry the Cable Guy and Jenny McCarthy I serioulsy contemplated ending my life. My filmgoing life, at least. Appalling. Just...unbelievably appalling.)

Julia is reading letters in her house, I think, and conniving sloot Eden brings her TEA. Evil, poisoned tea! Julia goes on and on about what "a doll" Eden has been, helping poison her and whatnot, and Eden replies, "Hey, there's one more piece of fruitcake in the fridge!" Really, that's what she says. And Julia says, sure, ok, fill 'er up! Then while Eden is getting the Fruitcake of Death, Julia finally looks down at her mail and reads the lab analysis of her hair and it's MERCURY POISOINING FROM CONTAMINATED FOOD. In walks Eden with the fruitcake. Julia says she'll take it to her room.

The doctors are taking the gauze off of "Falafel Face"'s face and she reveals that it has been Matt pushing her to have all these surgeries all along and she's done with them and him and is going back to Israel. She says he's a "nice boy but he's very confused, he thinks that I am the answer, Judaism is the answer," but he needs to look inside himself for the answers. Yeah, like that'll ever happen! Matt shows up and she tells him the bad news about going back to Tel Aviv, and the little fact that she's not only not in love with him but is also not attracted to him in the slightest, that there's no "inner chemistry" between them because he looks so much like Michael Jackson. So of course he reverts to total dick mode and asks, "Have you looked in a mirror lately?" and basically tries to be holier than thou and a complete prick at the same time, and then wise falafel faced Rachel says that he just wanted to find someone who was so desperate that they wouldn't leave him, ie his whole life story, and he throws the flowers at her and leaves and then runs right into The Patient Formerly Known As Port Wine Emmy, who is in some kind of argument on the phone with her mother. (Ding! Ding!) He asks if she'd like to "go grab some lunch," which in L.A. apparently means "leap into the sack and do it immediately."

Ugh. They're lying in bed and of course being creepy Matt, he's blathering on about how he's "never felt a connection like this before, it's amazing" and it turns out that Emmy was a virgin and he is "honored" to have deflowered her and I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.
Then she says how incredible the past few days have been: First she met her father (DING! DING!) and then she got her face fixed and then she porked Matt, who asks who her father is and...her father is Dr. Christian Troy! Who, of course, is Matt's father, too! DINGDINGDINGDING! CODE RED! CODE RED!

August Walden and his new face go with Dr. Sean McNamara to the coffee shop looking for the barrista he's been stalking, but before she can get a gander at his newly improved looks, a male coffee shop employee comes up and starts ranting that Walden's negative review of his work in a featured recurring role on "NCIS" ruined his career and killed his dream, and then he throws burning hot coffee on his face!

Back at the incest nook, creepy Matt is looking up websites for "couples who are related." EWW! He and Emmy check out a testimonial that reads, "For us, incest is the best of all worlds." ACK! THIS SHOW IS SO UNBELIEVABLE! Emmy is torn--she's freaked out about having freak babies, but for some unknown reason she doesn't want to stop being with creepy Matt; on the other hand she's afraid that "this is wrong." Ya think? Dr. Christian Troy comes busting in and he's pleased as punch that Matt and Emmy are shacked up. Matt takes him aside, but instead of telling his father that he is having sex with his heretofor unknown illegitamate half-sister, he wimps out and makes up some story about Emmy needing a prescription for emergency contraception. Dr. Christian Troy says how great it is that they're "being careful."Oh, the sweet, delicous irony of it all! (Speaking of irony, I wonder if there's some not-so-hidden meaning in naming this girl "Emmy.")

Back on the set of "Hearts & Scalpels," Tub Shitter Kate tells Dr. Sean McNamara that she's glad about Walden getting scalded, but Sean says he's not glad at all and describes the extensive 2nd and 3rd degree burns that he suffered. Then some guy who is not Oliver Platt comes up and shows them a really bad review they got in the Los Angeles Times. Does "Nip/Tuck" get a lot of bad reviews or something? This show is so self-referential and meta-y, I guess it must, but I don't remember actually seeing a bad write-up. Mostly I bet people are too dumbfounded to do anything but stare at the screen with their mouths hanging open.

Next we see conniving sloot Eden as she comes into a room with "healing tea" for Julia, who for some reason takes this opportunity--alone in the house with no witnesses anywhere for miles and miles--to accuse her of poisoning her. Julia says that the fruitcake was 80% contaminated with mercury (which leaves 20% for those grody green jelly thingies I can't stand). Eden grabs the phone and pours herself a drink. She tells Julia that she's had oodles of fun watching her slowly get weaker and weaker, but--sorry, I'm really distracted by the camel toe on Eden's wide-leg pants, it is pretty mesmerizing--then she says she'll go and pack her bags and wait for her mother and the police to show up so she can confess everything and make amends for her crime. And Julia, in her weakened, poisoned state, believes her. Eden goes into Julia's bedroom, gets the gun--the one that is finally put into play after being so laboriously introduced into the plot several episodes back--from the bedside table and shoots Julia! And scene. Fade to black.

OMG. Next week is the season finale! The preview is a flurry of flashes of crazy suicidal/murderous stalker/faux agent Colleen Rose on the set of "Hearts & Scalpels" here, a body in a bodybag there, scenes of conniving sloot Eden being even more conniving and slooty, zing, zang, zig, zag--I can't keep up with all the images! Is Julia dead or alive? Will Bradley Cooper make his triumphant return? Is Wilbur OK? Does Dr. Christian Troy have AIDS? Are Matt and Emmy really related? And the most important question of all probably won't be answered: What will I do when it's over?

There Will Be Lust

I just Chicken Ladied all over my own front yard because I opened my mailbox and found this inside:



My. Heart. Can't. Take. Much. More! AAAAAAH!

My deep and potentially illegal love for Javier Bardem has been well documented on this blog; he is one of a revolving pantheon of actors for whom I would gladly walk on hot coals to touch the hem of their garment. Regular readers know who else inhabits that rarified air...

But with Daniel Day-Lewis it is a bit more complicated. I loved him in My Beautiful Laundrette and of course My Left Foot, but he was always a bit too emaciated and pretty and poetically ethereal for me. When The Last of the Mohicans came out, it seemed like every soccer mom on Earth thought he was hotness personified, and my interest waned...

Then he lost his mind and became a cobbler and my interest was peaked again; but his ridonkulously over-the-top scenery chewing performance in Gangs of New York transformed my crush into something akin to my feelings for Miss Liza Minelli--affection and admiration and love mixed with a tiny bit of fear.

However, his current appearance in There Will Be Blood and the fact that he's now 50 years-old and grown into his good looks a bit (similar to Jeremy Irons, who was wan and fey when he was a lad and then became decadent and hot as he aged) has swung the Felt Up pendulum of lust back his direction again and all I can say is thank you sweet baby Jesus that Entertainment Weekly had the good taste to put two such dreamy dreamboats on the cover. Happy Valentine's Day to ME!

The Turner Diaries

It's a slooooow non-news day, folks. The best I can come up with is that freaky grotesque Nicolas Cage is suing crazy old blowsy broad Kathleen Turner for libel in a London court over the claims in her autobiography that he was arrested twice for drunk driving and once stole a Chihuahua. From Us Weekly:

On Friday, Nic Cage’s attorney began libel proceedings against Kathleen Turner at London’s High Court.

Cage, 44, is suing Turner, his former Peggy Sue Got Married co-star, 53, for writing in her new autobiography Send Yourself Roses that the actor was busted for two DUIs and once stole a Chihuahua.

Turner writes, “He caused so many problems. He was arrested twice for drunk-driving and, I think, once for stealing a dog. He'd come across a chihuahua he liked and stuck it in his jacket.”

But in a statement issued last month, Cage fired back: "I have never been arrested for anything in my life, nor have I stolen a dog.”

Cage's lawyer tells New York's Daily News, "If he doesn't get a retraction, he intends to go full speed ahead with litigation in the U.S."

I can understand Nicolas Cage being upset over the DUI thing, if in fact that is untrue, but stealing a Chihuahua? Is he really going to get his knickers in a twist over something as ludicrous as that? Also, the British have much, much stricter libel laws than us freewheelin' hicks in the US. Here's a quote from the New York Times quote about a totally different libel case:

British publishing has long been notoriously hamstrung by the country's libel laws, which place the burden of proof on the defendant and often make it prohibitively difficult for authors to win their cases if they are sued.

Usually they are much more careful about what gets published there, as opposed to the US, where we'll publish anything. So even though Kathleen Turner is a notorious nutty nutball, I think it is more likely than not that the stuff in her book is true. If Cage was arrested but the charges were dropped, I'm sure he would get his record completely expunged. And how in the hell can he prove he never stole a Chihuahua? They're so wee he could probably fit a couple of those rascals under his toupé without anyone being the wiser.

Try growing a sense of humor along with your hair plugs, Nicolas Cage! Leave Kathleen Turner alone with her memories of former glory and her endless bottles of whatnot and go play with your Elvis dolls, knife collection, and child bride. Or whatever it is you do when you're not stealing Chihuahuas...

Grammys Bore; Scheider Dies

(image via the new york times)

I was so busy being disappointed by "Rock of Love" that I forgot to mention the other two big non-news events of the past couple of days. First, of course, was the boring ole Grammy Awards, which I did not even bother to watch, but apparently Amy Winehouse was the big winner--5 total--except that she didn't win Album of the Year, which rather awesomely went to Herbie Hancock. I love a good underdog victory!

Apparently Beyoncé and Tina Turner did a duet together (can you imagine the collision of egos? Beyoncé is a braver diva than I, that's for sure!) and Amy Winehouse performed two of her songs, "Rehab" and "You Know I'm No Good," via satellite; she also shouted out something about her "Blake, incarcerated!" when it was announced that she'd won Record of the Year. Also Kanye West threw a hissy fit when they tried to hurry up his speech about his dead mom, and Cirque du So Gay did their big Beatles thing, which, though I hear is kind of great live, I have a deep-seated fear and loathing of, so I'm glad I missed it.


(image via the new york times)

Oh, and Cher wore this:


(image via janet charlton's hollywood)

Cher! Come back, Cher! We need you!

The other story is the death from myeloma of actor Roy Scheider, who is probably best known for his leading role as the sheriff in Jaws who famously said "You're gonna need a bigger boat," and also for starring in Brother of Felt Up Patrick B.-B.'s childhood favorites Blue Thunder and 2010, but he will always have a special place in my heart for his unforgettable bravura performance in Bob Fosse's spectacularly weird and wonderful autobiographical lollapalooza All That Jazz.

If you've never seen it, well, I can't guarantee you will enjoy All That Jazz; much like amphetamines and jazz hands, it's an acquired taste. But I can say with some certainty that you've never seen anything quite like it. Here's a wee taste, and it's oh-so-ironically the "Bye Bye Life" closing number, in which Roy Scheider, Mr. Ben Vereen and a bunch of alien-esque disco dancers bid adieu to life and say bonjour to death, which is personified by Miss Jessica Lange in her movie debut, to the tune of the Everly Brothers' "Bye Bye Love." It is total genius.


Bye bye, Roy.

Rock Of Love 2 Is Bumming Me and Bret Michaels Out

Dude, I had such high hopes for this season of "Rock Of Love," what with all the gross make-out parties and gratuitous boob-n-labia flashing and general skankaliciousness going on all over the place in the premiere, but we're just a few episodes in and already it has devolved into a giant 12-year-old girl slumber party, complete with angst, sobbing, mean looks, slam books, girl crushes, in-fighting, and endless heartfelt emotional talks with Daddy (ie, Bret Michaels), who now constantly has the sad and confused look of a man wondering where the party went. Where did the party go, ladies? This man sang a song about how he "don't need nothin' but a good time," and yet all you do is whine and cry and carry on about your non-existent "relationship" with him. WHASSA GOIN' ON?


Kristy Joe.

**YOU KNOW WHAT'S AHEAD**

**EVERY ROSE HAS ITS THORN**

**EVERY BLOG HAS ITS SPOILER**

Last week, the fake drama that was cooked up by the producers was that all the girls--except for tragically fug Aubry--loathe Kristy Joe (who is simply named Kristina on the VH1 "Rock of Love" site), so they have to show some leftover simmering resentment amongst the skanks at the beginning of this week's show. Yawn. The only delightfully horrible thing that happens is Bret makes a reference to everyone getting down to "makin' bacon." Ewww. There was also some kind of nuttiness from Aubry, who keeps staring at Bret and then gets all kinds of bent out of shape when he passes her over to kiss some of the other girls good night. Odd!

Hideous trout-lipped freak Daisy manages to "walk Bret back to his room" and then totally does it with him. Ack!

Aubry and Kristy Joe are incensed when they realize what Daisy has done! Incensed, I say! How dare that 'ho take their fake group non-boyfriend into his boudoir and not come out until morning! Outrage ensues! They tear into Daisy on the way to the challenge! She rambles on with some sort of non-explanation and makes no sense! Whooore! Sloot!

The challenge, another patented Bret Michaels' "I Want To Date Myself With Boobs" endeavor, is for two teams to rebuild motorcycles. There is much beating of the breastplate by Peyton, AKA This Season's Rodeo, because she feels that she has been put on this earth by God for the sole purpose of building a motorcycle for Bret Michaels. So of course she loses. The winning team leader, Inna, AKA Bret's "Ukranian Love Tank," gets a solo date with Bret, while the rest of the team--Aubry, Ambre, Megan, and Daisy--get a group date. The losers have to clean Bret's motorcyle with toothbrushes while wearing bikinis, which, call me crazy, sounds just a tad degrading. Why can't they do more stuff like that, huh?

Inna rides off with Bret in her own special, hilariously ugly motorcycle jacket for their one-on-date. They don't show much of their romantic dinner, but apparently it went well. I think. At least it didn't end in tears, which is more than I can say for every other segment of this show.

They return to the house in time to catch some of the girls in their tiny bikinis, bending over to clean Bret's "pipes" with the toothbrushes and--surprise! Bret gets kinda turned on. But not for long, as Aubry is standing in the corner, arms folded, looking exactly like a stern librarian who has just caught you ripping out a photograph of a very young and hot Robert DeNiro from an old movie magazine (not that I know anything about a situation like that, no siree, not me). She is determined to be the wet blanket on Bret's good times, and insists on a heart-to-heart. Bleh! They go off to discuss how hurt she was when he didn't kiss her good night, and he clearly has no idea what she's going on about, and quite reasonably tells her that she's already acting like the nagging nag hag in some loooong, doomed relationship, and they just met. I can't say that I disagree with Bret, except I would add, "and you have a bizarre Frankenstein monster of a freaked out face."

That was apparently not enough to sate Aubry's hunger for heart-to-heart conversations, so she goes off to have an earnest talk with her bff Kristy Joe, and this talk makes Kristy Joe reevaluate her own, uh, married, situation and all, and she cries. All without her make-up on, so the audience is totally distracted by those weird mini-brows that look like tiny apostrophes over her eyes. Then she decides to have a group heart-to-heart with the whole house, and sobs about her past and two marriages and how maybe she isn't ready to move on and that might not be fair to Bret. Woman, have you never watched a reality a show in your life? Why on earth are you telling your competitors in a contest in which "really being there for Bret" is the highest ideal one can achieve that you are unsure of your feelings for Bret? The other girls are, naturally, confused and disgusted and think she should just leave already, although she's lucky-- because if Heather had been there Kristy Joe would be dead now.

Then Kristy Joe has to have yet another heart-to-heart, this time with poor Bret, who is so obviously thinking "why did I get rid of Frenchie?" and all I can say is, sir, you have no one to blame but yourself! Frenchie would never have a 'eart-to-'eart because she has no heart! She is one giant vagina! I have no sympathy for you Bret Michaels! Kristy Joe sobs on and on about the same crap she told the house. Bret tells us that she's so hot! But, also, has she got a lot of baggage! He is torn. Baggage? Boobs. Baggage? Boobs. It's tough.

The next day the other girls in the winning team have their date, and it's a retro pin-up photo shoot, which reminds me that I would like to take this time to declare that this is officially THE CULTURAL DEATH of pin-ups, burlesque, Bettie Page, roller derby, cherries/flames/dice, tattoos, flowers-in-hair, and Las Vegas. Once these things reach Bret Michaels territory, you can put a hot-rodded-out fork in it because IT IS DONE. Anyway, these girls get all dolled up in the worst possible fake retro pin-up outfits and take some heinously bad photos. Poor Aubry is done no favors with the giant 1940s rolled hair and giant fake eyelashes they give her; as bad as she normally looks, in this get-up she is truly monstrous, like an Andrews Sisters drag revue gone horribly awry.

Then they all go have lunch together and goddamn Aubry gets all pouty and brings the mood down AGAIN, talking about how everyone on this show is going to get hurt, including Bret. And Bret says that she's not entirely correct, and that when he was talking to "Whatshername" (ie, Kristy Joe! ha ha ha!) it occurred to him that karma was going to bite her "on the ass." It was kind of a confusing conversation, but the end result was that Aubry goes nuts thinking Bret was talking trash about her bff Whatsername, and she rushes off to pass Kristy Joe a note about it in the lunchroom.

Kristy Joe has to confront Bret. AGAIN. AAAAAAH! Why is the stripper pole sitting there gathering dust? Why are the bottles of cheap booze going to waste? Why do the producers think we want to see a bunch of borderline personality cases having ridiculous "deep" discussions with BRET MICHAELS? Why? When she busts in on Bret he is playing his guitar and clearly this is, to him, like totally sacred and he is not pleased to be interrupted. His "whassa goin' on" is almost menacing in tone. Like, "THIS HAD BETTER BE GOOD. I AM AN ARTISTE COMMUNING WITH HIS ART." And she just blah blah blahs at him about the same crap--her past, not being sure if she's ready to let her guard down. (I would like to say here that that is absolutely the most overused concept on the show--this whole "letting your guard down" thing. Someone, usually Bret, says it like 500 times an episode. In my entire life I have never had a single conversation with another human being about anyone's guard or whether or not it was being let down, yet it comes up constantly on "Rock of Love." Contestants! Here is my top-secret formula for winning that you should attempt to memorize with your tiny minds! It is this: Letting Your Guard Down+Giant Boobs+Tiny Waist+Enjoying Traditionally Male Recreational Activities+Being OK With Bret Having Unprotected Sex With Countless Groupies+Did I Mention Giant Boobs?=The Key To Bret Michaels' Heart. Use this in good health!)

Elimination time! Oh, Aubry what on earth are you wearing? She has kept the 1940s wack WAC hairdo but added some absolutely heinous faux punky clothing, like something you'd find in the Wal-Mart "edgy" juniors section. Even Hot Topic wouldn't carry this stuff. She looks deranged. Eek! Daisy, having slept with Bret, is of course rewarded with the first pass. Eventually it gets down to Aubry and Kristy Joe. Kristy Joe is sobbing. She looks like she might collapse. And then all of a sudden Aubry decides to throw herself on the grenade and save her friend! She tearfully tells Bret that she will voluntarily leave the show so that Kristy Joe may stay and prove her love! Kristy Joe immediately perks up and stops crying and, truth be told, comes close to smirking. Aubry sobs her way out the front door, apparently awash in mixed emotions--sadness over leaving Bret and the show, but feeling quite proud of her selflessness and charitable works. And then the pay off--Bret was going to eliminate Aubry anyway! Kristy Joe's name is on the pass! She can stay and rock his world! Or at least talk his ears off.

YUCK. If they're not careful this is going to become the skank version of "The View"! In the immortal words of Elvis Presley, a little less conversation, a little more action, please!