Reality TV has done horrible, horrible things. The tragic and far-reaching damage that reality TV has wrought upon mankind, our culture, our evolution, and our destiny may take centuries—millennia!—to fully grasp. If, that is, it doesn’t manage to end all life in the Universe first. And no, I’m not JOKING.

It was all a Republican conspiracy, naturally. All of the very worst things are. But especially reality TV—that was REALLY the Republicans. See, they realized during one of those secret “think tank” thingies they are always having in their hidden underground lair that the only real threat to their complete totalitarian control over the capitalist slaves of America was celebrities. And celebrities are quirky, outspoken, capricious and unpredictable. Only a few of them have ever been totally under Republican control (Ron, Arnold, Bruce Willis, Sylvester Stalone, Mrs. Garret from “Facts of Life”). The rest? Loose cannons! Trouble! So the obvious answer? Destroy the celebrities. How? By destroying celebrity. And thus was hatched their cleverest evil plan since the invention of the Drive –Thru, WAL MART, and FOX.

They realized that there is no better way to destroy celebrity as an institution than to make every booger-eating, ass-scratching, wife-beating moron a star. Thusly would the dazzling, entrancing, beloved image of celebrity be diminished, tarnished, soiled and sullied….and inevitably completely destroyed, leaving the way clear for the dark forces and their continued destruction of everything. So they bought all the networks they didn’t already control and VOILA! Reality TV was born, and spread like the clap in a locked whorehouse. And so here we are. It’s all screamingly obvious when you think about it.

So in all this madness and confusion, we have begun to idolize fools, whores and criminals—-not the beautiful or talented or brilliant or skilled as nature intended. Gone are the Hollywood Gods that inspired a century and captured the imaginations of the world—today all we have to look up to are rich-for-nothing retards with bleeding septums, maggot-gnawed genitalia and impending court dates. And that’s just Paris Hilton. And just when you thought we had hit the rockiest of rock bottom—the very zenith and nadir of cultural depravity—-no! Wait! An even lower place! And yes, God help us, there is an even lower place. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Gummy Bear, “Perez Hilton” and Hunk Hogan’s Kid. Let’s explore.

First it’s important to note that none of these fools has anything directly to do with reality TV—they are merely its toxic waste; the first terrible wave of its result. The first tragic karma of our lowbrow sensitivities. They are, for instance, famous for nothing. Worse than that, they are fat and rather hideous. And yet, the world obsesses about them like they were Jackie fucking O’s new shoes. Check it out:

“Gummy Bear” (aka Some Fat Rich Guy)

“Gummy Bear” (as some site called TMZ.com I’ve never heard of calls him) is hands down (way down) most revolting hellbeast ever associated with celebrity. For reasons evil and unfathomable, the celebrity press has taken to giving the scabby fatmonster mounds of attention. His worthiest accomplishments to date, however, are being loosely acquainted with Paris Hilton and not being able to contain the gallons of infected puss that squirts from his orifices at odd moments. A source reports: “The open wounds on his legs became infected and wont’ heal, and causing “weeping” sores that spread all over his body, back and legs.” Also, if he got any fatter Richard Simmons would have to cut him out of his room with a chainsaw, his teeth have attained a shade of yellow usually reserved for hepatic Ethiopians, and Donald trump called and really wants his hair back. A star is born!

Hulk Hogan’s Kid

The child of a retired wrestler?!? No WAY! How rare! How special! How divine! His most notable accomplishment to date? Crashing horribly and not being quite so fat or revolting as Gummy Bear. He crashed or whatever sometime last week, and suddenly…BAM! He’s everywhere. He haunts my life. I have to TRY to ignore him. And God, how I want to. I don’t know whether to just turn the TV off, or shoot myself. Both probably.

Lastly, and I mean lastly, we have…

“Perez Hilton” (aka Rita Lupita Gomez Consuelo Jose Rodriguez Big Homo Fatty Pants Gomez Gomez Pilar Gomez Castro)

“Perez Hilton” resembles what would be left over should a drag queen pork itself in the ass all night with a package of Johnsonville Brats. Also, he’s a fat gay Cuban. This pitiful and untalented comrade has somehow managed to finagle bitching about celebrities into a totally disproportionate celebrity of his very own—and he’s getting fatter by the nanosecond to celebrate. Why he’s famous, why anyone cares is anyone’s guess, and a testament to the tragic state of celebrity in general. Plus, no one should ever pay attention to fat people. It’s just a law of nature. While his uninspired online bitchings should be the natural extent of his reach, MTV has decided to give him his own show, which is a testament to the tragic state of MTV in general. But I’m sure deep down inside he longs for the day he can leave all of this glitzy madness behind and go safely back to his favorite hobby—rolling around in white flour and trying to find the wetspots. Hasten the fucking day.

By Adrian Ryan

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“AP– Since leaving the trucker hat behind and marrying Demi Moore Ashton Kutcher’s fashion sense has taken a turn for the better. Kutcher, the face of 2003’s trucker hat fad, dispenses sartorial tips for couples in an essay in the September issue of Harper’s Bazaar magazine, now on newsstands. ‘Guys don’t like to be told they look nice, pretty or cute or that they clean up well,’ the 29-year-old actor says. ‘So when your guy finally tries on something that you like, tell him that he looks like James Bond or Tony Montana,’ he writes. ‘Feel free to be even more vague than that: “Wow, that suit makes you look like that hot football player!’“

Wow, thank you for those very, very wonderful pointers. Now, for those of us who aren’t queer and married to fag-hags, can you give us tips that don’t involve your extensive knowledge on how to flatter men? Seriously, can you at least pretend that women aren’t retarded and have seen, or at least know, that football players wear uniforms, and not suits? If you’re going to write an “essay,” don’t.

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No, don’t get me wrong when I say that he’s a gone-haywire drama queen crybaby with much more destructively potent mental/emotional issues revolving around his weird fucking nose than any one man should ever have to bear, because I like Owen Wilson in general, I guess, and really hope he doesn’t kill himself. (He owes me a backrub.) But what the fuck is going on with the apparently suicidal freak (love you, Owen! Please don’t die!) is anybody’s guess at this point, as reports of his alleged suicide attempt are mutating wildly by the second. First, and the weirderest of these, is that Owen’s tragic and rather prom-queen-like PILL OVERDOSE and the subsequent and widely-reported frantic stomach-pumping never happened AT ALL, that these events were all a tragic lie, and that Owen had (egads!) CUT HIS OWEN WILSONISH WRISTS, instead! It was all very confusing.

But what really happened is so much worse.

Sources have now reported that Owen Wilson, for reasons understood by him, his God (is he Jewish? Do Jews have a God?), and Kate Hudson, tried to kill himself NOT merely, indeed, by way of a rather girly and limpid pill-popping, nor simply by a comparatively manly, drastic, and much more painful CUTTING OF HIS Owen-Wilsonish WRISTS…but indeed, all of the fucking above….both….in tandem! He popped the pills, then sliced open his veins, more determined to dispatch himself, apparently, than anybody first imagined.

Due to the extensive and self-inflicted wrist-damage and emotional weirdness in general, Owen was forced to pull out of his latest project, a movie with Ben Stiller. This would have been their ninthso-called “film” together.

Experts, shocked at the drastic determination apparent in Owen’s suicide attempt, still agree that if they had to work with Ben Stiller for a ninth time, they’d cut their fucking wrists too. He should be given his own fucking holiday for sticking it out through eight. Word.

by Adrian Ryan

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When Tom Brady had sex with Bridget Moynahan he could have ejaculated on her bed sheets, or on her tits, or on her forehead, or on her dog, or in her sink, or on her tits, or on her ceiling, or on her television set, or out her window, or on her tits, or in her purse, or in her blender, or in her refrigerator, or on her ass, or on her ten-speed bike, or on her cell-phone, or on her floor, or on her stereo, or on her tits, or on her tits, or on her tits, or on her tits, or on her tits, or even in a condom! Or on her tits.

Instead, Tom Brady chose to ejaculate in Bridget Moynahan’s vagina. Most guys who ejaculate in their girlfriend’s vagina do so between the ages of 16-24 at a point in their life where they are not financially stable enough to adequately support a child. These men’s lives usually follow two trajectories.

Trajectory 1

They convince the girl to get an abortion. Trajectory #1 men usually feel a profound sense of guilt for about a week followed by symptoms of slight anger when they are forced to tell their friends, “dude, I told you I can’t go out for like a month cuz I had to pay for Charlene’s abortion”.

After the procedure, most of these men chose prophylactics and/or the ejaculating on her tits method as their preferred birth control. Others continue to ejaculate in girl’s vaginas and instead use the “having a doctor enter her uterus with a pair of sharp forceps and crush the fetus’ head with them” method of birth control.

Most trajectory one men go on to be doctors, lawyers, ass hole bosses or drug addled porn stars.

please note, many claim that upon death, trajectory one men go to a place called “HELL” (the existence of hell has never been scientifically proven) where their heads are slowly crushed with large sharp forceps over and over again for eternity. a small percentage of trajectory one men also die during the abortion procedure due to car bombings at the hands of a group of semi-retarded inbred cloven-hoofed mongrel beings known as “the religious right”

Trajectory 2

They decide to have the child. These men spend the rest of their lives muttering, “if only I didn’t have you, I could have been somebody,” followed by, “no, um, I wasn’t saying anything, I was just clearing my throat”.

Most Trajectory #2 men go on to be professional miniature golf caddies or assistant grease trap cleaners.

please note, many claim that upon death, trajectory one men go to a place called “HELL” (the existence of hell has never been scientifically proven) where their heads are slowly crushed with large sharp forceps over and over again for eternity. a small percentage of trajectory one men also die during the abortion procedure due to car bombings at the hands of a group of semi-retarded inbred cloven-hoofed mongrel beings known as “the religious right”

Tom Brady is a special case. He already has a Trajectory one life but he has made the trajectory two decision. It’s safe to say he probably won’t spend the rest of his days digging ditches. Maybe from now on it will be Wild Card round eliminations instead of Super Bowl rings; regular models instead of super-models. If his football career does go down the tubes he can always wait till Vick gets out of prison and put their money together and open a Chihuahua fighting ring in Costa Rica.

by Mike Kelly

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“BOSTON GLOBE–Wilson, 38, had been rushed from his gated house in Santa Monica by an ambulance Sunday afternoon. He was treated and stabilized at St. John’s Health Center and later transferred to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. […]the Star and the National Enquirer, which were the first to report the story, said Wilson had cut both wrists and taken an ‘indeterminate amount of pills.’”

So it was inevitable, that we were going to join the bandwagon of celebrity blogs and report on Owen Wilson’s attempted suicide. Apparently Owen was taken to the hospital early on Sunday after he looked into a mirror and realized that he was: one, a third rate actor who’s always typecast (and not in the awesome Joe Pesci kind of way); and two, quite possibly, the most hideous thing he had ever seen. I really hope the doctor’s at Cedars-Sinai took caution in removing that underdeveloped fetus from his face.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:

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“CLEARWATER, Fla. — Hulk Hogan’s son was released from the hospital Monday, a day after a car crash that critically injured his passenger, authorities said. A Toyota Supra driven by Hogan’s 17-year-old son, Nick Bollea, was traveling at a high rate of speed at about 7:30 p.m. Sunday, Clearwater Police spokesman Wayne Shelor said. Bollea lost control and hit a raised median. The car flipped around, and the back end hit a palm tree. “It’s clear from the scene and other factors that excessive speed … was a factor in the crash,” Shelor said Monday. He said the investigation was continuing.” (AP)

Nick …Nick … Is that the one that looks like a tranny? Oh, shit! The Hulk married that thing? Alright. Well, then, is it the other one that looks like a tranny? You know, the one that belts out transgender-iffic lyrics in the most prestigious of shopping malls and drag night events in all of Palm Beach county? Oh, okay, so it’s the other one. Then we must be talking about the one who watched ‘The Fast and the Furious” one too many times.

Listen, Vin Diesel, just because you have an “off the hook” Japanese sports car, “with gages, a wing, and NOS ‘n’ shit,” and you believe Paul Walker’s performance in “2 Fast 2 Furious” to be “the most awesomest racing shit I ever saw, bro,” doesn’t mean you can pretend to be an undercover douche-bag looking to bust some Miami mobsters who run their coconut-trafficking operations out of their palm tree headquarters.

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Evil little birds with an agenda report that Owen Wilson had his darling six-pack-abed stomach pumped—and not in the good way—at St. John’s Hospital in Santa Monica, CA late last night, and the whisperers are whispering that it was all due to a possible suicide attempt! Allegedly, after said pump-pump-pumping, Owen was transferred to a second top secret hospital for rich people somewhere else entirely to be treated for…something secret. No one is saying anything, except for the loudmouth police, naturally.

According to a statement from the aforementioned loudmouth police: “On Sunday Aug. 26. 2007 at 12:10 PM, officers from the Santa Monica Police Department responded to a medical assistance call from the Santa Monica Fire Department at the 900 block of 23rd Street. The person was transported to a local hospital where they are being treated.” “The person”, of course, was Owen Wilson. And now we know where he lives, kinda. (Thanks police!)

These terrible events leave us with many questions. Was this actually some desperate attempt to dispatch himself to the great beyond? And if so, why would he ever do such a thing? Did the fact that Kate Hudson was just seen/photographed making out with some loser called “Dax Shepard” in a grocery store force him over the edge (in which case, that’s just karma kicking his ass for stealing her in the first damn place)? Or did that FREAKY FUCKING NOSE of his simply finally just make….him….SNAP? And what, exactly, was pumped out of his stomach? ‘Ludes? Tylenol? The sperm of the New Kidz on the Block? We may never know for sure. Never.

Kate Hudson remains the only woman on earth I’d pork.

by Adrian Ryan

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Also, in other things: It has been suddenly reported that Tom Cruise and Katie Something-something (AKA That Dawson’s Creek Chick He’s Porking) actually sleep in, oh sweet Jesus, SEPARATE fucking BEDROOMS, even though they are ostensibly married and heterosexual and all that crap. Sources that probably believe in aliens report that The Dawson’s Creek Chick He’s Porking insists that the very, very, very not very intimate sleeping arrangements are the tragic result of “Tom’s terrible snoring habit” or something, which, as those who speak Scientologist understand, translates roughly as, “We’ve never had sex, he’s a homosexual, help, my baby is an alien.” L. Ron Hubbard was busy frying in hell like a tater-tot for mocking the One True God and, yadda yadda yadda. No Comment.

Nicole Ritchie Goes to Prison…. Kinda. Sorta. Well… almost.

Then, in terrible events that raped justice and shocked everybody who has never heard of her or the American court system: Late last week celeb-for-nothing Nicole Ritchie served exactly 82 fucking minutes of her already pitiful four-day so-called “jail sentence”. Somehow, however, her unborn fetus served the full term. “The guards would carry the fetus to the exercise yard every day. It was all candy apple red, and just kind of laid there, steaming,” reports an inmate who’s already probably been shived in the showers. Experts are baffled, and rather disgusted.

Not to be outdone… Britney breaks an animal.

In what can only be seen as a move to distract and divert attention from her alleged alleged neglect and abuse of her 2.4 children, some sweet young hopeful called “Britney Spears” (God, I wish her the best!) has begun neglecting and abusing her pets instead. “It’s a clever, aggressive strategy,” said a senior strategist for the GOP who would not reveal his identity because he was on crack and dressed in dirty girly panties. Apparently, as if anybody cares, Britney’s damn dog broke it’s doggy little leg under mysterious circumstances, and Britney ignored it for ages and ages and ages until she finally had some underling take it to a proper vet. “I don’t know what a vet was supposed to do for her anyway,” said Spears while smacking her gum, smoking and rubbing her enormous pancake nipples simultaneously. “Vietnam was WAY over way before she was even a puppy!”

by Adrian Ryan

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“LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - Actress Lindsay Lohan on Thursday pleaded no contest to charges of possessing cocaine and drunken driving and will serve one day in jail, 10 days community service and three years of probation, officials said.

Lohan, 21, was charged with seven counts of misdemeanor drug possession and drunken driving stemming from two separate arrests, but avoided more serious drug charges that could have earned her a long jail sentence.

In both cases, Lohan possessed cocaine, but the amounts were below the .05 grams required for more serious felony charges of drug possession, the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s office said. Following an hour-long conference in Beverly Hills, at which Lohan’s attorneys entered the pleas, Los Angeles County Deputy District Attorney Danette Meyers said Lohan did not receive any special consideration because she was a celebrity.

The judge also ordered Lohan to perform 10 days of community service and attend 18 months of an alcohol education program during her three-year probation.”

I guess she’s pretty good at what she does: blow(ing). Yeah, that’s not very funny, but that’s not the point. The point is that this coke-whore is getting away with being…a coke-whore. We live in America, damn it! And I know this is Los Angeles, but isn’t there some government official without a penis or coke habit themselves that can go without feeling guilty for holding this over-privileged drug fiend accountable? What’s that? Oh… there isn’t. Well, then, may the blowjobs for reduced sentences resume… starting… NOW!

I gotta get a job working in D.A.’s office.

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Breaking News Exclusive!

Amy Winehouse has been indefinitely detained by Her Majesty’s Most Royal Board of Human Health and General Wild Animal Welfare or something in a desperate attempt to prevent the possible spread of contagions like rabies and other diseases and/or parasites (up to and including her boyfriend) that are undoubtedly carried by the enormous packs of wild and feral dogs that have lately begun to swarm around the dissolving singer, apparently to lick the bloody horrible bloody festering bloody heroine holes weeping between her toes. An unidentified cockney flower girl who witnessed the scene tells us, “Garn! Blimey! Bangers-n’-Mash! Gol! Coo!”, and was then hopefully torn apart by the packs starving of dogs. (Fucking flower girls.)

These events are in no way expected to disabuse Ms. Winehouse of her prodigious and now suddenly infamous “horse” habit, nor even slow it down one little bit, as it is widely understood that Amy Winehouse possess the diabolical power to suck heroine supernaturally from everyday objects like toilets or mascara wands, and even out of the empty either itself, if her insatiable veins have already sucked up all handy toilets and mascara wands. Ahem. Satan, of course, was busy ejaculating into George Bush’s mouth and was unavailable for comment.

There is still no word on what action the British government plans to take to address Amy’s maggots, tapeworms and flies.

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