MONDAY, FEBRUARY 27 Today we woke up to a big avalanche of DEAD—particularly "TV character" DEAD. No less than FOUR semi-famous TV stars died over the weekend and early week, including Don Knotts (Barney Fife from The Andy Griffith Show), Darren McGavin (Kolchak from The Night Stalker), Dennis Weaver (McCloud), and Jack Wild (H.R. Pufnstuf). And since celebrities only die in sets of three, we can expect two more TV stars to croak in the coming week. Perhaps Nick and Jessica? Meanwhile... Nothing makes one forget about celebrity death faster than a celebrity wedding, and two biggies were announced today: Squirrelly Scientologists Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes have allegedly set their date as July 4, 2006. (While most of us consider this a day of "independence," poor Katie will remember it as the day she checked into the Abu Ghraib Hilton.) Also planning a summer wedding are Hollyweird home wreckers Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, who are reportedly exchanging vows of infidelity on June 27. The two are already registered at Tiffany's, and among the hundreds of items they've requested are wine glasses, silver flatware, and $340 serving spoons. WOW. But we suppose if Brad carved out Jennifer Aniston's heart, he'd need an expensive spoon with which to ladle it onto Angelina's plate.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 28 But fear not! Jennifer Aniston is already plotting her insidious revenge—by allegedly getting herself impregnated via the Neanderthalic sperm of boyfriend Vince Vaughn! According to The Star, the couple recently vacationed in Telluride, Colorado with the express purpose of putting a fetus inside Jennifer's tum-tum. Says a snoopy spy who should really mind her own business, "After Valentine's Day, Jen said to Vince, 'Give me a baby now.'" Preferably one, we assume, without the Vaughn back hair gene. Meanwhile... Teen Queen Lindsay Lohan (she hates it when we call her that) was embarrassed again this week when her nipple filed for emancipation and leapt out of her dress at the 10th Annual GM Fashion Show. The nipple is really easy to find on the internet, so run off and take a look, and we'll be here when you get back. (Hmmm... hmmm... hmmmm...) Is he gone? Omigod, that particular reader is such a pig. We really wish he wouldn't even read this column. Yes, we know we're partially to blame because we regularly report on any celebrity nipple slippage, but—how else are we supposed to get rid of this meathead douchebaaaaahhh! We see you've returned! Yes, that was a very interesting nipple, wasn't it? And if you like that one, we know a site that has a great picture of Bea Arthur's slipping hemorrhoid.
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 1 Geez, you shoot one hunting buddy in the face, and your friends desert you? Things are looking pretty dour for Vice President Dick Cheney, who is allegedly getting pressure from the administration to retire in 2007, after the congressional elections. According to Insight magazine, sources indicate that Cheney has become a liability to the Bush administration, and there's been "a growing rift" between the staffs of the president and the veep. Apparently the Bush staff was not alerted about Cheney's hunting accident last month until 18 hours after the incident occurred. "Nobody on the president's staff could get to Cheney, let alone tell him what to do," said the GOP source. "At that point, the president picked up the phone and suggested that Cheney get his story out fast." If you ask us, Bush needs to think twice about getting rid of Cheney. Those two are the "Britney and Kevin of politics" and just like Britney, Bush needs an asshole around to make him look better.
THURSDAY, MARCH 2 As reported two weeks ago in One Day, god-rocker Scott Stapp (formerly of the agonizingly awful Christian band Creed) was videotaped getting his pole waxed by a gaggle of strippers six years ago while on tour with Kid Rock. And after an internet porn company threatened to sell it, Rock and Stapp took legal measures to shut the venture down. Unfortunately for Stapp, this move came about too late, and the godly rocker is now claiming the tape has already ruined his already ruined career. "Obviously, someone wants to hurt me, and doesn't want me to be successful in my solo career," Stapp said of the supposedly "stolen" tape. And while Stapp is quick to blame "someone" for his many woes, former pal Kid Rock isn't so forgiving. "[Stapp's] the idiot because it's out," Kid Rock grumbled. "I'm holding him responsible." Well, Kid— we hope you've learned your lesson: You share your strippers with a Christian, and look what happens? God punishes them, and you end up as collateral damage. At least you got a blowjob out of the deal.
FRIDAY, MARCH 3 Well it turned out today that we basically live in a big vat of poison. A new study by the U.S. Geological Survey claims that most of the country's rivers and streams are contaminated with pesticides linked to cancer, birth defects, and neurological disorders. DON'T WORRY. The USGS says that the levels of poison are not at levels that can harm humans. Unless you eat a lot of fish or kayak or something. Then you are fucking doomed.
SATURDAY, MARCH 4 With the Oscars so mainstream and corporate, it's a good thing that we have the Independent Spirit Awards to honor the small, overlooked films like Brokeback Mountain. The alt awards show (sponsored by Acura) was hosted this year by Sarah Silverman, every hipster's favorite potty-mouthed hot Jewess. It was an exciting choice, except for the fact that Sarah's shtick (that's Jew for "gimmick") is to make the audience squirm with her un-PC humor. The problem? Awards shows are squirm-inducing anyway. And the ISAs feature celebrities singing silly songs about the best picture nominees—with a bouncing ball going over the lyrics projected behind them just in case anyone wants to sing along. No one ever does. So Sarah riffs about feminine hygiene and the Holocaust and then Peter Gallagher sings. The horror! In fact, you're never given an opportunity to peel your hands away from your face to get another handful of M&Ms. We shall never watch another awards ceremony again!
SUNDAY, MARCH 5 All right, all right. We lied. We watched the Oscars. And you know what? You all need to just leave Jon Stewart alone right now. The stars had barely parked their hybrids at the Vanity Fair party before the blogosphere was teeming with jackasses implying that Stewart's hosting performance was sub-par. We believe the word "neutered" came up once or twice. Well, you know what? You are not fit to lick the sweat off Jon Stewart's smooth, castrated crotch. Maybe the Oscars were uninspiring this year. (Crash? Best Picture? Are you fucking KIDDING us?) Maybe Stewart didn't dress up in a costume or ride in on a horse or really do or say anything memorable at all, but his presence was very, very comforting. And not a single Oscar nominee died. Though a few looked weak from pesticide poisoning.