The week begins with a fascinating story from the good folks at E!, who today dished the dirt on Winona Ryder's probation report, made public after Ryder's sentencing for felony theft and vandalism last week. Among the Ryder papers' revelations: Between January 1996 and December 1998, Ryder "doctor shopped," using six different aliases to visit 20 different doctors and obtain nearly 40 different prescriptions for a variety of ass-kicking pain medications. (Upon her Saks shoplifting arrest, Ryder was found carrying Valium, Vicodin, Percocet, Percodan, morphine sulphate, and a syringe.) The report also suggests that Ryder's shoplifting may have been fueled by her drug habit; to outwit those monitoring her spending habits, Ryder may have been swiping pricey clothes to draw attention away from the money she was spending on drugs. In other Winona news, today The Smoking Gun offered the lowdown on one of Winona's most generous Dr. Feelgoods: Santa Monica-based physician Dr. Jules Lusman, who last week lost his medical license after California authorities found him guilty of "catering to the demands of wealthy and/or famous drug seekers"--including Winona Ryder and Courtney Love. According to a 41-page report by the Medical Board of California, Dr. Lusman worked "on a cash-and-carry basis," routinely prescribing Love and Ryder a variety of super-fun narcotics without examination. Among the more outrageous findings of the medical board's investigation: In June 2001, Courtney called on Dr. Lusman to complain of a swollen hand (the result of an alleged bee sting); before long, Ms. Love had prescriptions for injectable Demerol, syringes, and a variety of sedative hypnotics.

··Speaking of rock stars inspiring stupidity in professionals who should know better: Today the Seattle Post-Intelligencer ran a gigantic front-page photo of Pearl Jam frontman Eddie Vedder, along with the most painfully stupid headline in the history of the world: "You Vedder Watch Out!"

In honor of the forthcoming birthday of our lord and savior Jesus Christ, last night NBC broadcast a special Christmas edition of their reprehensibly revolting game show Fear Factor. Unfortunately, Last Days was unable to watch the proceedings (as the commercials alone were enough to make us want to die), but thankfully Hot Tipper Jennifer did, and today she told us all about it. "The contestants had to eat between five and 10 reindeer testicles," writes Jennifer, "then down them with 100-year-old eggnog. The balls were about two inches in diameter, blindingly white, and so smooth they shined. Plus, when the contestants bit into them, they made this hideous popping sound. Best of all, there was this prissy bitch who gave all her fellow contestants a hard time while they were eating the balls, then when her time came, she gagged and threw up. It was one of the greatest things I've ever seen."

Speaking of hideously gross things: Today Last Days received a horrific Hot Tip from Hot Tipper Pam, who was shopping at the downtown Ross when her eye was caught by a "semi-clad man sitting on the floor and tending to numerous scabs on his legs." As Pam heard nearby shoppers asking each other, "Is there something on your shoe?" and "Are we near a restroom?," she looked more closely at the semi-clad squatter and realized the man was shitting on the floor. "Security was called and accusations were made," writes Pam. "The man said sulkily, 'I didn't do anything wrong.' The security guard calmly replied, 'You went to the bathroom on my floor.'" Thanks to Pam for noticing and sharing, and deep props to the unlucky Ross employee who had to clean up.

In even ickier news: Today in Texas, a Dallas County jury sentenced 35-year-old Kenneth Atkinson to life in prison for causing serious bodily injury to a child. The charges stem from June 2001, when police discovered Atkinson's eight-year-old stepdaughter wasting away in a lice- and feces-infested closet, where the girl had been placed by her stepfather and her mother. In January, a jury gave the mom the same sentence today's jury gave the stepdad, but having these fucks locked up for life hardly alleviates the tragedy of the little girl, who measured three feet tall and weighed 25 pounds when police found her. Adding insult to injury, the little girl had nearly been adopted at birth by a Mr. and Mrs. Kavanaugh, but "a technicality" required the Kavanaughs to return the newborn to her mom and stepdad, and the rest is hideous history. "I hope that every day that you're in prison they beat you within an inch of your life," said would-be mom Mrs. Sabrina Kavanaugh to Mr. Atkinson in her victim impact statement. "I hope they rape you." In a teensy bit of good news, the little girl has finally been formally adopted by the Kavanaughs, with whom she "has grown physically and emotionally," according to the Dallas Morning News. Still, as prosecuting attorney Patricia Hogue put it, "She'll have to deal with this for the rest of her life." And oh yeah: During closing statements, Ms. Hogue told the jury about the little girl's favorite song, entitled "Don't Laugh at Me," which the girl heard on the radio while residing in the closet, and featuring the chorus, "Don't laugh at me, don't call me names. Don't get your pleasure from my pain. In God's eyes we're all the same. Someday we'll all have perfect wings."

In much lighter news: Yesterday brought the publication of a new Stranger, featuring the second Last Days item in three months about the Perfect Girl, the expressive young woman on First Hill who was overheard having noisy sex (during which she repeatedly yelled the word, "Perfect!") in October, then overheard having a loud, drunken conversation on her cell phone (during which she boisterously described "getting filled out like a fucking application in an elevator") on Thanksgiving night. Today Last Days received a missive from the Perfect Girl herself, who writes, "It's somewhat worrisome that your readership now has this image of me as a total woman-about-town (by which I mean "whore"), when that's such a tiny piece of my otherwise utterly mundane existence. Anyway, please let your readers know that I really am making every effort to be slightly less loud and obnoxious during and regarding sex." Thanks to the Perfect Girl for reading and writing.

Speaking of loud, obnoxious sex: Today we received a thrilling Hot Tip from Hot Tipper Tom, who was using the men's room at the Sea-Tac Airport when his eyes were caught by something on the floor. "Just inside the door of the first stall, lying face up on the floor, was a copy of the magazine Swank," writes Tom. "I started hearing these grunts. The place was packed, and people started hurriedly washing their hands and racing out to avoid having to listen to this guy's hard work." Pressed by Last Days for details, Tom revealed that the man's shoes were a pair of well-worn sneakers (suggesting a casual traveler), and his grunts were of the "disgusting" sort. Thanks to Tom for noticing and sharing.

Nothing happened today, unless you count the 25th birthday of Jake Nelson, Last Days' favorite person in the world. (Apologies to Jesus, Robert Christgau, and Dina Martina.)

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