Honestly, now. Ms. Ryan Seacrest should spend some serious alone time up in his room, sans dinner, thinking about all the adorable bespectacled redheads of the world that he's so clearly besmirched with his recent hate speech on his toweringly mediocre new daytime talk show, On Air with Ryan Seacrest--busting, as he did, poor carrot-headed Clay Aiken again and again ("You sure don't LOOK like a pop star--you sure don't LOOK like a pop star, SQUAWK!") because of his bristly thatch of strawberry-flavored follicles and sassy spectacles... ESPECIALLY in light of the fact that American Idol producers recently forbade the narcissistic dweeb (Ms. Seacrest) to inject one more drop of Botox into his tanned and tweezed puss because he was rapidly losing the ability to MOVE HIS FACE AT ALL.
And yes, I said no dinner.
Because "batshit" isn't a nice thing to call anyone, let's just allow this story of Nick and Aaron Carter's mom getting arrested for allegedly breaking into her ex-husband's new girlfriend's apartment, tip-toeing inside, yanking the new girlfriend out of bed by her hair, and kicking the shit out of that man-stealing bitch to speak entirely for itself. Don't you agree?
And, darling, face it: They've dragged Southampton, they've set the dogs on Manhattan, but Spalding Gray is just fucking missing. Poof. No one has heard a single wryly insightful peep from the man in weeks, which I suspect might have something to do with Rosie O'Donnell spearheading and organizing "the first gay cruise with family values" this summer. Perhaps Spalding is simply in hiding, awaiting the most opportune moment to leap out and smack the dizzy lesbo yak right upside the head. Let's hope so.
Speaking of head-smacking gayness or whatever: My good friend Justin Timberlake received a right smart smack in the face by an ostensible fan as he flouncingly ingressed a London bar called Rex Club, which isn't much surprising since, well, he's Justin Timberlake.
And since I'm not obsessed with Elijah Wood and his precious little ass: Nine of the Lord of the Rings cast members got--objectively speaking--pretty darn geeky tattoos in "Elvish" on various parts of their bodies to commemorate the filming. Elijah's? Right. On his ass. "Female fans know this and ask to see his tattoo just as a way to get him to flash his underwear," reports a source, explaining that Elijah complains, "Guys are just as bad most of the time." Right. "Complains."
And Valentine's Day. Indeed. Send notes of fitful passion (30 words) to love@thestranger.com and we'll publish them in our world-famous Valentine's Day issue. And the name's spelled "Adrian."
