Nipple News

I could so too date Ashton Kutcher. If I wanted to. But you know. He's Mafia. Believe it. (I attract these guys--it's my curse.) And Demi? Well, I'd cut the bitch. She'd split town. You know how she gets. And of course I'd vote for Oprah for president, and so would you. Only if she actually ran, naturally; penciling her in would take my all-important vote away from Ralph Nader. Anyway, let us be Cristal clear: George W. Bush MUST not be allowed to steal another election. Dear God. We beg you.

Doesn't anyone in this country love Jodie Foster enough to do what clearly needs to be done? I ask you.

In this junkshop of desperate half-truths in which we rummage for the Big Answers, Courtney Love is and will remain a riddle wrapped in a pop quiz crammed into a howling bitch. A howling Scientologist bitch, potentially, for her new rehab program is founded on the principles of Scientology, the perplexing religion or whatever that allegedly controls the alleged minds of Kirstie Alley, Michael Jackson, and John Travolta, and that's always fucking watching me. Even now. And while Courtney seeks to stuff that hole in her soul by embracing the spiritual meanderings of L. Mother Hubbard or whomever, Britney Spears (having failed to stuff hers by embracing various public toilets) has gone celibate and rediscovered Jesus. (He was under the sofa. She could hear him giggling.)

And if the horrible lies are true, David Gest is dating Diana Ross. Clearly she (Diana, not David) must be given a new identity and placed under armed surveillance, while a constitutional amendment assuring the protection of Barbra, Bette, and possibly Cher from Gest as a matter of national priority is ratified forthwith. (All in favor, whack David Gest upside the head with a glittery black evening bag. Seriously.) Not that any one of these venerable bitches couldn't kick the puckered pickles out of his pasty white-lady ass. That's not the issue.

"And to tell you the truth," said Heath Ledger recently about his weird hang-up with the paparazzi photographing his nipples. He also said some other stuff. It's not important.

And Tom Cruise was so blearily flummoxed by the sight of all those homeless-people thingies that have sprung up all over L.A. somehow (where the heck did they suddenly come from?) that he bade his Tom-ish minions to fetch them new blankets, pillows, and sleeping bags, and now they have to lug all that crap around, on top of being homeless. Fucking Scientologists.

adrian@thestranger.com