Amy Winehouse. Dear, dear, dear. My, my, my. Holy crap, crap, crap.

And what more can be said really? (Or snorted or swallowed or injected between the toes, for that matter?) I ask you.

As far as trajectories go—professional and/or personal—let us face facts: hers is pointed straight at the heart of hell and going faster than herpes through a seminary. Which has absolutely nothing to do with me personally, so shut up. Back to Amy Winehouse’s problems:

“Amy Winehouse has canceled all remaining live and promotional appearances for the remainder of the year on the instruction of her doctor. The rigors involved in touring and the intense emotional strain that Amy has been under in recent weeks have taken their toll. In the interests of her health and well-being, Amy has been ordered to take complete rest and deal with her health issues.”

Yes, she’s cancelled an entire tour, and that’s the official statement about it, and damn you all, that stuff about “stress” or whatever is TOTALLY, 100% true, with no shady embellishments or anything. She has a note. From her doctor. Doctor F. Eel Good. Lovely Swedish fellow. (You don’t know him.) But he’s the one to call. Dr. F. Eel Good. He’s the one that make ya feel all right. Ahem.

But what about poor Amy? What’s she saying? Well, what she’s saying is this, “”I can’t give it my all onstage without my Blake. I’m so sorry but I don’t want to do the shows half-heartedly; I love singing. My husband is everything to me and without him it’s just not the same.” Experts possibly agree that by “Blake” she means “heroin” and by “husband” she means “provider”. Which is probably a clever word game. Like “Pig Latin”, but with opiates and tenuous threads to Turkish prisons.  Which has absolutely nothing to do with me personally, either. So shut. Up.

Adrian Ryan

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Well, not poop specifically, but other things, equal to and/or greater than poop, like an ashtray and an alcoholic’s ass. And I’m not saying that you can’t kind of tell just by looking at her that she stinks, because you can. Or at least I can. And I’m not even sure how I can. I just can—at least where Tara Reid is concerned. I just look at her, and I think, Oh Jesus! I bet she stinks like oyster diapers and black lung. It’s a supernatural, ESP sort of thing that works only on Tara Reid. And it was right all along. Check it out:

“Appearing at the New York Comedy Festival, (Scrubs) creator Bill Lawrence said Tara Reid was his least favorite guest star - “not because she wasn’t a nice person,” but because she allegedly stank of booze and smokes.”

And what more proof do you need? If anybody knows what reeking is, it’s the creator of Scrubs. Believe it.

In other “news”: Apparently David Beckham hates cancer children, but I refuse to elaborate on anything negative regarding anyone with those abs. Thank you for understanding.

“Hanna Montana” star  Miley Cyrus turned 15 this week. Her disturbing chain-smoker’s voice turned 65.

There are terrible rumors on the wire that Paul McCartney (who like to be called “Sir”, the snotty bitch) and Rosanna Arquette are dating. Experts agree that “Ewww! That’s like an old Slim Jim ™ porking a prune!”

Then, suddenly: The people have gotten so sick of Amywinehouse’s heroine-coated bullshit that they have begun freely booing her at concerts. She has responded by freely walking out. A “report”:

“Winehouse disappeared several times throughout the incoherent performance, before storming off-stage when the audience began to boo and heckle the singer halfway through her set.”

But, um, she already had their cash and everything, so. She wins.

Booooooo all you want, bitches. 

Adrian Ryan

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Here’s the first reason you should be outraged and appalled: So there is supposedly this “professional comedienne”, you might say, and she calls herself “Chelsea Handler”. As in “the person who handles the Chelsea”, as if the damn Chelsea needed any more handling than it already gets. (I’ve never heard of her either.) And there is this cra-ZAZY rumor floating around out there that she is “funny”—or, as we’re about to discover, she is about as funny as a clambake with the Ku Klux Klan featuring special guest Hitler.

Observe you this:

“(Chelsea) was approached by two cameramen — one Chinese, the other African-American (or “black”). Chelsea remarked TO THEIR FACES for God’s sake that it was “crazy that you guys all travel together, Asians and Blacks. That’s amazing,” and then paused for the laugh.

Deafening. Silence.

But she quickly pulled her ass out of the fire and saved the terrible situation by immediately referring to the Chinese photographer as from, and darling I quote, “Vietcong-nam.” When it was then tactfully pointed out to the I’m not saying she a racist bitch racist bitch that the poor slanty fellow was, in fact, Chinese (the slantiest slants of them all, if you please), Chelsea dithered an unconcerned, “Whatever,” to the night air, and flitted off to chase butterflies or something.

Here’s the second reason you should be outraged and appalled: There is this rumor, you see, that Britney Spears, that most consummate of mothers, almost Jolie-Pitt-like in her philanthropic zing, is in the market (the BLACK market) to buy herself a nice set of Chinese twins. This of course would be complicated by the recent massive recall of Chinese twins due to their incredibly high content of lead paint.

Here is the third reason yadda, yadda: Apparently there is the show called “Lost”, you see, (I shot my TV ages ago—the fucking thing was watching me back), and this “show” has a “star” called “Daniel Dae Kim”, which starts out all American, then goes right into the rice pot. Welp, Mr. Kim entered a plea of not guilty to a drunken driving charge Friday, complaining that it was his squinty little eyes that caused him to run over those hookers, not alcohol, and also that everyone knows Asians are just sucky drivers. Then he made some noodles.

Then: If I had know that Jonathan Rhys Meyers’ poor mother had just died, I never would have gone on-and-on about how freaky he looks or have been so mean about that whole getting arrested at the airport thing, and now I feel really bad, so just lay off me right now, I’m a little sensitive about it, okay? Also, none of these people are Asian. So. You know what that means. Right. Nothing.

And I can make fun of Asians if I want. I was one, in college.

Adrian Ryan

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Baffled and alarmed authorities in Seattle report that the woman who accused David Copperfield of sexual assault has…DISSAPEARED!

Just kidding.

Then, somewhere else: I have never, ever, watched even a single second of some wretched show called “The Bachelor”, although I’ve gathered through various sources that the “winners” of this so-called show are apparently supposed to get married as part of the deal, but, ohhh Loretta, that’s not going to happen this time, because the most recent female “winner” (marriage is a prize? In what bizarro universe?) just beat the holy living crap out of the boy “winner”, which makes me laugh so hard and gives me such complete and unknowable happiness that I want to thank this show “The Bachelor” with all my little black heart, just the same.

Thank you, “The Bachelor”. Thank you very much.

And yes, that was a 110 word sentence. “Proustian” I like to call them. Thank you for noticing.

Also: Something new and horrible has been alleged about Marilyn Manson, and no, it’s not what your thinking. Wait, yes it is. And you were thinking that it’s something about him spending millions of dollars of other people’s money on attractive and useful thing—a few of his favorite things, in fact—such as masks made out of human skin and the skeletons of cripples. And that’s exactly what you were thinking, yes? Yes? Wow. You really fucking freak me out sometimes.

Then: There is this guy, see, called Joe Francis or whatever, and he made all his money videotaping drunk girls of dubious legality while he encouraged them to make out and flash their tits and junk like that. “Girls Gone Wild”, it’s called. (Or so the old timer’s tell it, when the moon waxes full and the wind rides high…I’d never know from personal experience, of course.) And Joe Francis went to prison because some of those gone wild girls had not yet reached the age of legal consent, and now he’s whining and crying that he was abused by the mean old prison guards there, who apparently threatened to tie him to a chair naked, and not only is that indisputable proof of the mysterious workings of karma, I wanna know WHY CAN’T I BUY A VIDEO TAPE of JOW FRANCIS STRAPPED NAKED TO A CHAIR IN PRISON? I’ve got credit cards, compulsive hypersexuality disorder, no common sense and an enormous Christmas list. godammit. I ask you.

by: Adrian Ryan

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Bill Nye the Science Guy’s fiancé has publicly apologized for poisoning his garden with a certain combination of toxic chemicals.

Um. Yeah. Wow. Whatever.

Meanwhile: Wesley Snipes, who makes a better drag queen than he does a vampire hunter if you ask me (and you do, dammit), is being indicted in Florida for not paying his draggy, vampy taxes. Sadly, Florida is full of racists and rednecks. Sadlier still, Wesley Snipes is blacker than the ace of spaces at midnight at the center of the earth. The singular convergence of these factors have culminated in the curious and rather embarrassing situation of Mr. Snipes making an official request that the State of Florida shove it’s tax indictment right up it’s redneck ass, as, as a person of color, and that color being very black, he’ll never, but never, get a fair trial there. U.S. Attorney Robert O’Neill responded to the charges, saying, “Snipes’ motion hurls scurrilous and baseless accusations at the prosecution and citizenry of Ocala in an overwrought attempt to have this case dismissed or transferred to another venue, and that’s all I can say right now, as I must bleach my sheet robe and help noose the poplar tree in preparation for his TOTALLY fair trial.”

God I hate Florida.

Then: Who the hell is Bill Nye the Science Guy anyway? And how the HELL did he ever get a fiancé? A mystery. 

Also: Mike Tyson, who is a total psychopath and named after a popular brand of frozen chicken entrées, spent a very much needed 24 hours in jail this week as punishment for something he did last year having to do with cocaine and speeding vehicles and not, as you might suspect, beating his wife to death or paralyzing a photographer or something like that. When asked for comment, he said, “I’ll kill you! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” and bit my ear off.

Believe it.

Adrian Ryan

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Mary Kate Olson was hospitalized today. Indeed, hospitalized. I don’t really care enough to find out exactly why she was hospitalized, but I bet it was for looking like a psychotic lemur with an ice cube up its ass. Tragically, there is no cure for Psycholemurassiceitis. Except eating, and god knows she’ll never do that.

Never.

Then: Kayne West burst into hysterical tears onstage, unable to continue a performance, and had to be carried offstage again, and all, of course, because his mother was just killed by a criminal plastic surgeon, and there’s nothing funny about that. At all. So siree Bob.

In other horrible news: Denis Quaid’s wife gave birth to twins, then the hospital promptly poisoned them with an overdose of some horrible substance that made them bleed out every orifice like tragic Ebola victims and there is nothing funny about this either. Jesus.

In other babies: Scott Baio just had his very first child at age 45. It is the first 45 year old child on record in this country. Of course Russians have 45 year old children all the time.

Then again: Owen Wilson was so happy that he isn’t all suicided and everything that he went to the beach and went swimming. He wore a lovely pair of blue swimming trunks, 12 extra pounds, matching wrist scars and some blond model that he’s definitely not just using to rebound on Kate Hudson. Really.

God it sucks being a celebrity right now. I’m telling you.

Also, George Clooney, who hates Fabio almost as much as I do (Damn you Fabio!), was riding his motorbike and everything right? And all of these freaktards from TMZ or whatever are all chasing him, and he gets off and starts screaming junk at them like, “How many laws did you break, pal? … You cut me up. … How many people did you put in danger? You drove like a maniac down here. At least understand that you’re putting people in danger …I’ve been down on a motorcycle and the last thing I want to do is get thumped. Gimme your license number!” and made them feel all bad and they appologised and like the entire time he was screaming he was just SO fucking HOT. Like, oh. My. God.

Scorching.

Adrian Ryan

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Did you hear that the real and for true birth-giver of one of the squalling brood of disenfranchised infants that have been so meticulously absorbed into the Orphans de Pitt-Jolie Collection like TOTALLY wanted the kid back or whatever, and now she says that the child was ripped from her arms against her will, and not a real orphan at all? But that the US government, praise the gods of capitalist justice, has wisely ruled that the adoption is legal, legal, LEGAL, dammit, no matter what the mother says, and told her to go piss up a flagpole? As if her backward-ass booger-eating desert country even had a FLAG, let alone a flagpole? And so Angie and Brad get to keep the kid? Well did you ? Hear it?

I didn’t. Thank God.

And then, suddenly with no warning!: Natalie Portman is SO TOTALLY AWESOME that she, like, totally refuses to get married as long as so-called “same-sex” marriage or whatever is still illegal. In protest or whatever. “I’m not convinced about marriage. Divorce is so easy, and that fact that gay people are not allowed to marry takes much of the meaning out of it,” she said in a recent “In Style” or what-the-fuck-ever magazine interview, proving once and for all that she is secretly a screaming dyke.

SCREAMING, I tell you.

Then: Dr. Phil was hit by a big fucking Mac truck while talking on a cell phone and driving at the same time. Sadly, he’s not that dead. Or, he’s not any more dead than he was before the accident. Which was pretty dead. Whatever. The jackass.

Lastly, Michael Jackson, who experts surmise it at least 69.9 percent female anyway, was seen earlier this week garbed in some sort of eccentric female clothing whilst wandering the gay, gay streets of LA. Some website says, “Jackson was dressed in an urban burka as he shopped at Unica — a women’s clothing store — supposedly buying some duds for his assistant.”

Sources report that his “assistant” is a 13 year old boy. Of course. 

Adrian Ryan 

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Amy Winehouse is very confused, and it’s not just the drugs. Alright, yes it is just the drugs. But it wouldn’t be if it weren’t. And you can’t argue with that. Observe:

“Let me tell you something. First of all, if you’re booing you’re a mug for buying a ticket,” Winehouse told the Birmingham crowd, many of whom walked out and/or asked for refunds. “Second, to all those booing, just wait ’til my husband gets out of incarceration. And I mean that.”

Ooh, she DOES, does she? Mean it? Oooooooh!

Um…Mean WHAT exactly? That’s the question. The very best sources available at this hour claim than no one but NO ONE can understand a single word she’s saying. Or singing. Whatever. The London Daily Mail reports:

“The beehived, issues-plagued chanteuse was booed by fans who were unimpressed by her muddled delivery, general unsteadiness and frequent dedications to her husband, Blake Fielder-Civil, who is currently in jail over allegations of witness tampering and assault.”

Muddled delivery? Unsteadiness in general? What the hell are these bitches talking about?

Oh. Yeah. Jesus Christ.

Elsewhile: The Japanese government hates dolphins SO MUCH that they have issued a really super serious arrest warrant for the cute blonde chick who played the unkillable cheerleader on Heroes because she tried to save some dolphins from some mean Japanese dolphin killers or something. And now if she doesn’t turn herself in? The Japanese government will like TOTALLY bomb her harbor and everything. And who can blame them? Fucking dolphins.

Elsewhere: Marie Osmond’s face just kept getting flatter and flatter and flatter…

Last night: Britney Fucking Spears ran over, oh Jesus help us all, ANOTHER paparazzo’s foot (YES! That makes THREE!) and…yawn…I can’t….even…forces….myself to type…another….syllable…about…..that…stupid….BITCH!

Damn. That was like climbing Mount Everest. Which the Tibetans call “Chogmologma”, of course, which in their freaky devil language means “Isn’t Marie Osmond’s Face Getting SO Flat?” To which we must answer, yes, Tibetan speaking person. It is.

Over.

Adrian Ryan

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Nothing happened to any celebrity anywhere today. I swear to God. Nothing. Not a Goddamn thing. It’s got to be the slowest celebrities-doing-things day I’ve seen since that other one I saw once, and that was a long time ago I think. (Who can be sure of anything at this juncture? I ask you.) Nobody went to rehab, nobody got out of rehab, nobody got suddenly pregnant, nor arrested, and no one stood on a corner and screamed, “N@igger, n*igger, Jew, Jew, JEW!” No one lost custody of his and/or her squalling brood. There were no divorces. No weddings. No shit. 

Yawn.

Of course, Britney Spears ran over some paparazzo as usual; knocked him off his little moped and almost killed the guy, and then she flew to Las Vegas to have a tiny bit of liposuction to celebrate, but that hardly counts. And frankly, who can blame her? For any of it? Honestly now?

Well, Marie Osmond’s son went to rehab, I guess, but you know. She’s merely a celebrated anachronism, a novel oeuvre, so her son is, like, a celebrity thrice removed, drugged up though he may be. All I’ll say is I wouldn’t stand to close to Marie Osmond just now if I were you. She’s got some bad Mormon mojo goin’ on. Believe it.In fact, nothing even slightly interesting happened to any celebrity anywhere so much that I’m going to talk about John Stamos. Yes, John Stamos. And the first thing we’re gonna talk about about John Stamos is this: so, was he like in some gay porn way back in the early 80’s, like, porking some fat bald guy? That’s what I heard. A long time ago. But I’ve never seen it. So did he? Or what? Because I really need to know! Also, this: He was attacked an airplane yesterday by a pesky crazy lady who just…wouldn’t….let, him, SLEEP! The report:

“The woman then persisted in trying to get the actor’s attention after he told her he wanted to sleep. Then, when he got up to use the restroom, she informed him she would wait in his seat until he returned. After Stamos got back to his seat, the woman persisted in trying to chat with him, refusing flight attendants’ urging to go back to her own first-class seat and repeatedly tapping Stamos on the hand.” 

Interrupting John Stamos’s beauty restis, of course, punishable by death. And I think she just wanted to ask him if he was in an old porn with a fat guy. Of course, we may never know for sure. But I totally bet that was it. Totally.

By Adrian Ryan

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World! Take heed! Lock up your sexually ambiguous sons and/or gender-confused daughters or whatever! Boy George has officially gone…INSANE!

I know we’ve all had our suspicions, and goodness knows it’s been a long time coming, but it’s finally happened. He’s snapped like an anorexic’s pelvis—gone as mad as a bat’s shitty hatter. And so forth. The many proofs:

Proof the first: Everything he’s done since 1984.

Proof the second: he kidnapped some filthy Norwegian manwhore and chained him to a wall. Then he proceeded to do rather sketchy things to him. (I mean, sketchy things OTHER than not holding him against his express will.) He has been charged with “false imprisonment”. Here’s the so-called “story”:

The former Culture Club singer, who is 47 now and looks like a bald Elizabeth Taylor, and some other random guy picked up a Norwegian manwhore sometime last April. They brought him back to the Boy’s flat for a naughty little “photo session”. Imagine the manwhore’s shock when–oh my GOSH!— he suddenly found that he was chained to the Boy’s big gay wall. Then imagine his even shockeder-ness when Boy fucking Bald Elizabeth Taylor fucking George emerged (probably nude—imagination balks) and accosted the poor manwhore with a whip, a big floppy “dildo” and a rather bad attitude. (What shock indeed!) The scene waxes wildly out of control at this point, but according to the escort, it went a little something like this: “Now you’ll get what you deserve,” says George in that faggy little accent of his. “Oh, NO, please, let me go you icky bald Elizabeth Taylor man! Let me go, oh please let me go!” cries the manwhore. But George, intrepid, proceeded to give the escort EXACTLY what he deserved, against the escort’s increasing protestations. Finally, the intrepid manwhore, in a fit of pique, disgust and adrenaline, wrenched his chains from the very wall itself and rushed screaming from the property in a flurry of drama and general gayness.

George has been ordered to stand trial Thursday of next week. The manwhore no doubt needs therapy. The other guy is unimportant. And was probably George Michael.

All of their mothers must be SO proud.

Elsewhere: Lindsay Lohan, who is a tramp, began doing her community service, as ordered by the LA District Court for myriad well-reported peccadilloes involving drinking, driving, and being a big skank in general. Since picking up garbage was too redundant a punishment to even be considered for her, she’ll be doing something vague and unspecified at an American Red Cross blood donation facility, probably giving noble blood donors the blow jobs and cookies they so richly deserve. The big heroes.  

Adrian Ryan

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