The best thing that happened this week is that Lindsay Lohan was ordered by that hilarious old prankster called “the American justice system” to carry out the million and a half hours of public service she owes society for all of that glug-glug-vroom-vrooming she was doing in a morgue. A morgue! Where the dead people live! And what will she be asked to do there? Pickle the brains? Mop up the lungs? Wallow in pools of clotted blood? Shoo-away the horseflies? String the intestines up like streamers for old Ed’s retirement party? We may never no for sure. But I hope so.

Then: Kelly Osbourne, who is quite bloated and rather hideous, has, as they are wont to say in the gossip business, “blasted” those “other types” of spoiled Hollywood girls like, oh, let me think, off the top of my head, Britney Spears and that Paris Hilton tramp for their hard-livin’, coke-hoovering, blow-jobbing, drunk driving ways, insisting that their collective, and I quote, “need for attention is just absurd.” But of course she’s just a jealous bitch because they are pretty and famous and she’s just fat. And rather maggot-like when you think about it. And you shouldn’t.  

In other things: Britney Spears. You know she did something.  

In really other things: I heard this amazing story that claims that the father of Britney Spears’ little sister’s baby is not the father at all, but just a cute boy Britney’s mother paid a million dollars to pretend to be the baby’s father, because the real father is really some much, much older man who is somehow connected to Britney’s mother’s new television show, and if he came out as the father, it would, let’s face it, be rape technically speaking, but like I said, it’s just a rumor, and you didn’t hear any of this from me anyway so just keep walkin’, bub.  

Yes, I said “bub.” Keep walkin’!

Adrian Ryan

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