Celebrities are dying to ask me for advice.
OK, not really. But I’ve been addicted to gossip columns since I was a child, and I still devour them. My pen pal, “14,” the fabulously talented artist/celeb commentator of Gallery of the Absurd, keeps my celebrity schadenfreude ever stoked with her wicked artwork. Still, as I endlessly pour over
D-Listed, Go Fug Yourself, and TMZ, I find myself taking mental notes and carrying on mental conversations like:
Britney Spears: Oh, Lord. You can take the girl out of the trailer park but…. P.S. to Criss Angel: If you really want to know what you’re getting into, there are pictures of her Brazilianed beaver all over the net. Just remember who got there before you – it’s the best birth control in the world.
Angelina Jolie: You are exquisitely lovely and your tattoos SUCK. Please. I beg you. Before you haul your brood in for matching tattoos, find a good tattoo artist, someone old who knows their art. I know a few of the REALLY good ones. Call me, Angie baby. I fixed Lucinda up with hers and can help you take care of yours.
Amy Winehouse: You really need to go to rehab, yes, yes, yes. Darling, you have one of the best voices and styles in ages. I love your Ronnie-Spector-meets-Elvis’-Priscilla look, but you are a MESS. Not a hopeless mess like Brit-Brit, but a fixable mess. So stay in rehab (take a look at pics of Courtney Love the last few years for inspiration or see Judy Garland before she died) and dump your husband Kevin Federline. Oops, I meant Blake Fielder Civil. (P.S. You will be SO sorry you got that golddigger’s name tattooed on your chest.)
Lindsay Lohan: Not since my brother Stephen walked around the neighborhood as a child in a skeleton costume months after Halloween have I been so embarrassed for someone else. What is WRONG with you, girl?
This article appears in August 17 • 2007.
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