Well, bless my kaiser buns and color me tardy: Until the wee merest of moments ago, I hadn't even the vaguest fucking clue that a certain Miss Katie "It's Not Herpes, It's Love" Holmes—who is of course doomed to soon become THE Mrs. Tom "Fuck Me You Freakish Scientologist Manpixie!" Cruise—did not actually fall from space like a fucking moon rock. She fell from Dawson's Creek like a fucking moon rock. You remember: Dawson's Creek. The WB. Circa '98-ish. Enormous heads. Sarah McLachlan soundtrack. Enormous heads. Katie was on it. Of course, I never watched the trash, except for the historic episodes in which Danny Roberts starred as a sexy, sexy French-speaking man-pump of some sort. Which of course brings us right back to man-pumping Danny Roberts. But doesn't everything? I ask you.

"Dear Adrian: So, I'm standing in line at my credit union, and I see Mary Kay Letourneau and Vili... Macho little man... He wears the pants in that family. I think they were waiting to see a loan officer. Man, you could have heard a pin drop... No one spoke or even moved... It was like there was a robbery was in progress... Maybe the scariest part is she is still a member of a teacher's credit union. —Skinny"

Dear Skinny, did you hear that when Kelly Osbourne was in town, she danced at Neighbours in a rather conspicuously homosexual fashion with another, actual, cooter-having female? And that, even more homosexually, Kelly stretched forth her pudgy little demon digits suddenly and cupped said actual girl's gravidly delightful breasts? And then remarked, "Mmmmmmm...These are scrumptious, darling! BLEEP!" or something vaguely similar kind of? I didn't. Hear that. But now we both have somehow. Unless you already heard it, in which case now you've heard it even more. Tada!

In hopefully something else: Kate Hudson confirmed the widely suspected suspicions that she sees dead people. Indeed. Like ghosts and shit. "I've seen many ghosts," the delightful Miss Hudson claims. Taking into account recent and similar peculiar claims from other such celebrities as Richard Pryor (who believes he's beset with demons) and Renée Zellweger (who says she communes with Janis Joplin or something) coupled with other unfathomable phenomena such as the Kabbalah and Scientology, one thing becomes certain: Famous people get all the best weed. And it's the end of the world.

Lastly: Jennifer Aniston lost consciousness on the set of her new movie, just like I sort-of predicted she would. Stress, they say. Brad Pitt was busy whacking Angelina Jolie in the forehead with his big floppy dick and unable to comment. Possibly. ■

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