Green Pants

"I love seeing women when they're wearing little sweats or coming out of the shower with their skin all wet."

Justin, Justin, Justin.

You know? It's jealousy. I admit it. Would I run on (and on) like a coked-up purse snatcher with a case of the clap about every little move Justin Timberlake made if the green-eyed monster wasn't humping my leg like a humid Chihuahua in a discount whorehouse?

Of course not.

So if my eyes do loop-de-loops and I snort (ha!) when such clearly--well, the unkind might call it desperately overcompensatory bullshit as the preceding quote falls from sweet Justin's lips, you know it's just because I wear the pea-green pants of jealousy.

And when he turns around and signs on as a "special sporting events correspondent" for ESPN because he "loves sports" so bloody much (ha!), immediately after one of his recent pumps announces that he "didn't seem to know how to handle a woman" in bed--well, I guess it was either that or marry Liza Minnelli, and she's all fagged up at the moment.

Since the local scene is suffering from a chronic case of the not-interestings (unless you count a visit from Tipper Gore, or a party for J. P. Patches--which God knows I don't), let's keep our focus on the carnival of filth known as the national dish. Good? Good.

Did you hear that two complete idiots posing as fans mugged poor, darling Cameron Diaz? She agreed to pose for a photo with the dirtbags, and they ran off with her handbag! Although whether or not the purse snatchers were coked up and clap-having has yet to be determined, Cameron is now irreparably damaged and has sworn to never be as trusting and accessible to fans ever again--which sucks harder than insecure sorority chicks.

Which reminds me--a friend at a national scandal rag tells me that Monica Lewinsky is reportedly "acting like an ass" on the set of Mr. Personality. Meditating on the myriad functions of your average ass leaves me at a loss as to exactly what he meant, however.

And, hate to admit it, I just can't help but feel sad that recently rehabbed A. J. from the Backstreet Boys took a metaphorical swan dive right off the wagon and into an L.A. club, where he splashed about in puddles of vodka and Heineken, trim little beard and all. Allegedly, of course.

Oh! And Jennifer Love Hewitt and John Mayer (I'd tell you he makes my bull run, but I'm not sure he's of age yet) were spotted "smooching and cuddling" at L.A.'s Fred Segal department store--and although I'm not sure how to feel about that, Melissa Rivers was rejected by Playboy magazine, and I think that's funnier than Republicans on fire. Almost.