WHAT'S WRONG WITH THESE PICTURES?

I can't believe this. I think Vanity Fair has lost all of its credibility. With its 22-page spread of Tom Cruise and Katie (sorry, it's "Kate" now, right Tom?) Holmes sporting their baby Suri, Vanity Fair has proven that they're no different from trashy rags like US Weekly. Just cause Annie Leibovitz took the pictures doesn't make them more palatable or "artsy"—it's still trash. But alas (sigh), it's FINALLY confirmed; baby Suri actually exists!

Here's a question: Who cares?!?

But if you do give a shit, then you should know that it's likely that it took this long for the "parents" to show off Suri because they had to find a suitable baby to photoshop into the pictures. Cause if anyone recalls, Tom Cruise couldn't have kids with Nicole Kidman (which is why they adopted) because rumor has it he was shooting blanks.

But let's say, just for fun, that Suri is real.
Well, then how do we explain the insemination of Katie Holmes?

I'm going to have to take a shot in the dark here and say that Suri is probably not the next immaculate conception.

But, I will say, that the great thing about being a Scientologist is that once you reach Level 10 of insanity, you're awarded special sperm powers, and that, my friends, is how Suri came to be.

The World is a SHITSHOW: Part 2

A television reporter investigating a suspected real estate scam was attacked by a woman and her husband, who punched and tackled him as a cameraman videotaped the incident.



This woman is batshit CRAZY. She would do better by putting those gym-clothes to good use and smacking the crap out of a boxing bag instead of fighting with water. This isn't X-MEN lady! It's not like your water is acid, and it's gonna melt someone's face off, or it's not like it's infested with feces and you're spritzing someone with E-coli.


IN OTHER NEWS:

Lionel Richie says that his daughter Nicole's extreme weight loss is the result of nerves, not an eating disorder, in a 20/20 interview airing tonight on ABC.



Right. And Paris Hilton is smart.

Lionel, why don't you take the revenue from that hit song you had, "Ballerina Girl" and buy Nicole a freakin twinkie, or better yet, force-feed her uncooked beans all day, so that when they expand in her stomach and plump her up a bit, she'll actually look like a human being.


By the way, here's a picture of Paris' arrest:



What a damn waste of film. Even worse, what a damn waste of the gasoline that was required to drive her dumb ass to jail.

Office Space

This woman is miserable. Look at her. I don't know who the hell she is, but she's downright tragic, the sad sap.

Why, you might ask?


Because she's working in a fucking CUBICLE. Cubicles are by far the WORST inventions of the 20th century. You have a guy named Robert Propst to thank for that, so if you happen to find his grave, feel free to piss on it for all I care.

This picture embodies the utter misery of cubicle life. Yeah, she's smiling, but it's undeniably an awkward smile. Let's face it, behind those pearly whites, she's gritting her teeth and saying:

I HATE this fucking cubicle, because I can't scratch my ass without somebody hearing me, and I can't just shut the door, because I don't HAVE one, and I have to whisper on the phone to my friend about my vaginal infection instead of whining out loud about it like I like to do.

And worst of all, I have people coming over all the time, and looking at what I'm doing on my laptop, or picking up the trinkety shit that I have all over my desk (like this weird bell that's on the front of my desk), and asking "What's This?" or "Got any fun plans for the weekend?" or "Did you see that episode of Lost last night?"

And now this guy wants to take my picture—and he's probably going to jerk-off to it later while watching Lost, and I think I'm going to have to jump up and scream like Joan Cusack did in Working Girl when she heard that Melanie Griffith got a job, except it's not going to be a happy-like scream, but more of a I'm-gonna-punch-somene-in-the-THROAT-like scream, cause I hate this damn cubicle so much!"

The beginnings of Revolution

"Where my bitch at?" is probably what's going through little George's pea-brain now that his man-toy, Tony Blair, is essentially forced to resign as Prime Minister, giving himself a year to leave office (we'd hoped it would be sooner).


















Dear seven junior members of Blair's Labor Party (who resigned to protest his let's-go-kick-some Iraqi-ass bullshit):

You all have balls of steel, and it's about time somebody started pushing back. You rock so hard-core that you should get your own reality TV show. Now all we have to do her in the U.S is grow some of our own cojones. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Bush was ousted? Wouldn't it be great if his cabinet knocked some furniture around in the oval office, picked him up by the seat of his little knickers, yanked his underwear up to his pooper, and screamed "We're as mad as hell, and we're not going to take this anymore!!"

But seriously. If the next Prime Minister doesn't support the U.S. and its globally alienating policies, then we're pretty much screwed - cause nobody else likes the U.S right now, and nobody else wants to help us out—and can you honestly blame them. It's going to be very interesting indeed to see how events unfold here in the U.S. after Blair resigns. Something's gotta give, and we, like Great Britain, should not be afraid of our government; our government should be afraid of its people.

Alright, already. I'm stepping down from my soapbox. Ok?!

The world is a SHITSHOW and here are some of its players

Let's get right to it.

A handbag that was supposedly stolen from Lindsay Lohan at Heathrow Airport in London on Thursday has been recovered.

THANK GOD!!!!

After the recent news of a the suicide bombing in Kabul near the U.S. embassy, and George Bush's appeal for tapping our phones to wrangle up the terrorists, I was really down in the dumpers for a second. But then it got REALLY worse when I heard the news about Lindsay, and after spending sleepless nights worrying about her calamity, I can finally rest assured knowing that the alleged coke addict, anorexic, lazy-ass, can't get to-my-million-dollar-job movie-star has found her orange fucking Hermes bag. The world has been restored to its rightful order.