Thursday, January 04, 2007

The Wee One is a Cheap Bastard


One thing I cannot stand in my shallow-minded world is a cheap rich person. You know the type. The fur-laden woman wearing a diamond worth more than your annual income times two, holding up the line at Kmart, because the trash bags rang up at $5.99 instead of $5.96. And then smiling smugly as she gets into her BMW or her Mercedes because she saved those three pennies, people!!
Obviously the Wee One revels in such assy moves himself. Exhibit A. The Cruises' alleged Christmas, oh excuse me, holiday, card. If this is for real, I must admit that I have not seen this type of homespun do-it-yourself artwork since kindergarten. Couldn’t the diminutive man who dropped 10Gs on a steak dinner have afforded to at least hit up Papyrus for some decent cards? Or out of that $3 or $4 million he was rumored to have spent on the contract signing in Italy, couldn’t he have slipped a hundred out of the pot and scheduled a sit down photography session at JCPenney? We all know how much the Wee One loves having his picture taken (provided that he girdled up some of that girth first, of course). And let’s not forget Katie/Kate, the future ex-Mrs. Cruise. The Wee One rhapsodized himself silly over how “artistic” Katie/Kate was with ribbons and how she was going to do all that ribbony and flowery stuff for the contract signing. Guess that fell by the wayside, since Katie/Kate was apparently so busy at Barney’s. But didn’t she have time in her busy shoe shopping schedule to bust out that artistic side of her (yeah, I know, we have yet to see it, in crafts, or in film) and send out some artsy-fartsy, ribbony cards?
Instead, we allegedly have this masterpiece of craptastic crafty proportions. Cheap paper. Uneven edges. Lacking in any kind of sentiment. “Happy Holidays”? That’s it? No “Hope your holidays are amazing!”? No photo included? Disappointing.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

The Bride of Frankenstein Goes Christmas Shopping


Hee, just kidding. The Bride of Frankenstein is a better looking ho than this train wreck. Isn’t the joy and glow of newly married love showing all over The Beard’s face? Seriously, look beyond the gargantuan “don’t look at me even though I am calling all sorts of attention by wearing sunglasses indoors and at night” shades on her face. Look beyond the dried out, gnarly hair. Look beyond the pale, pale skin, which is basically beginning to sink into her skull. Can you see it now? Look at her eyes. Those dollar signs are a true reflection of the amazing love that she and The Wee One share.
Anyhow, here she is, all in black, assless, soulless and, oh did I forget to mention, CAREERLESS, just a mere day after posing for a photo op with the less fortunate of East L.A. while her minions brought forth Christmas trees and bags of goodies. Yes, just a mere day after visiting a family who couldn’t afford to get a Christmas tree, Queen Katie is probably dropping more money on a pair of shoes than this family brings in for a month. Does “hypocrite” come to mind? Or maybe “P.R. shtick”? Regardless, methinks that Queen Katie had better hope that Scieno-Santa leaves her a nail file and a good pair of running shoes under the Scieno-approved Christmas tree. Xenu knows you can’t run in those stilettos she’s been sporting lately.

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Am I Really Time's Person of the Year?


Time has declared YOU person of the year, yet something about this "out of the box" thinking stinks like the plodding media giant it came from. Picture the Time Warner drones given the mandate to "think like web 2.1. Web 2.0 is for suckers. Think syngery like a company man but make it cool, like 'Lazy Sunday'."

The schlub who came up with YOU must have gotten a big bonus as it dovetails nicely with Time Warner Cable's slogan, "The Power of You." Thanks Time Magazine and Time Warner Cable, I couldn't have done it without you.

This is either an intential multimedia brainwashing attempt or the giant is so big, it doesn't know what the right hand is doing when the left hand is launching a major brand strategy.


Either way, they look like dorks. Besides, what are we Bolsheviks? We want a winner. Luckily you can now tell everyone that you are the most Person of the Year.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

The Golden Child Comes Out to Play


I’m not the type of person to get all mushy over a baby, but look at this child. She looks like a beautiful little Gerber baby - - a perfect genetic mix of her parents. I’m no fan of either Brad’s or Angelina’s but their family pictures do make me feel warm and fuzzy. And unlike the Wee One, they don’t take out a 22 page spread in Vanity Fair to prove what an amazing and in love family they are; Brangelina just goes about their business in whatever country they happen to be frequenting/filming/adopting in.
Gazing at this picture, I am sure that the Wee One is in full panic mode now. People, his assigned ass-kisser, the magazine that will guarantee him a cover and an “exclusive” has named the Jolie-Pitts as “Family of the Year”. Ouch! All those weekends of camping out with his future ex-wife at the soccer and football fields, the incessant hand clutching, the forced just-for-the-cameras kissing, not to mention the PR-drenched wedding, seem to be for naught. Now the proclaimed Family of the Year has a beautiful, glorious mini-spread, with nary an airbrush or photoshop in sight! Is the “most amazing, magnificent baby EVAH” any competition for The Golden Child? Can the excessive airbrushing of the progeny of The Wee One give The Golden Child a run for her parents’ money? Au-naturel baby Cruise doesn't stand a wog's chance at the Scientology Center.
Personally, I’d like to see Leah Remini’s reaction to the pictures of The Golden Child. Since she proclaimed Baby Cruise to be the most beautiful baby she’d ever seen, more beautiful than even her own child, I would think after feasting her L. Ron-infested zombie eyes on the Jolie-Pitt babe, she would be ready to disown her less than aesthetically pleasing daughter.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Heather Mills Proves She's as Smart as She is Classy


In what surely must rank as the single most boneheaded move of the year, the soon-to-be ex-Lady Macca has announced that she is going to represent herself in the pending divorce action against Sir Paul. There are just no words. Why would she choose such “tactics”? She’s not lacking for money. You would think that Sir Paul’s money could buy the best attorneys. And she certainly doesn’t have a spotless reputation or background, so the "trust me" line isn't going to work here. So what could be motivating this most inspired of golddiggers?
My guess? Since the “leaked” information about Sir Paul’s alleged drug and alcohol abuse, not to mention spousal abuse, did little to help Heather’s case, she might be sly enough to think that pointing the blame squarely at her former legal mouthpieces might render her innocent as the day she was born. Big mistake. Mistake of gargantuan proportions. The Wee One would have an easier time convincing a jury that he had nothing to do with leaks and PR strategy.
Of course this could be a red herring of monumental size, lulling Sir Paul (and the Sir Paul-loving public) into a false sense of security, thinking the dumb blonde is proving the stereotype when the Queen of Golddiggery is really sharpening her claws and preparing to show her mettle.
Things have been strangely quiet on the Macca front. Too quiet, really. I think this sucker is going to blow and prove to be more explosive than the Charles and Diana split. Gossipmongers can only hope.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

The Wee One Has a Death Wish


No, the mighty Wee One hasn’t flown over to Iraq to straighten things out, or even entered some Celebrity Deathmatch with Danny from The Partridge Family, but nearly as good, he’s pissed Oprah off! Proving once again that what he lacks for in height, the diminutive Hollywood dictator makes up for in stupid. In spades.
In case you haven’t heard, their Italian fake nuptials not being enough, the Wee One and his future ex-wife are throwing a post-wedding bash this weekend. For those people who couldn’t attend the Scientology vows. Of which Oprah was one of them. Not because of prior commitments or because she didn’t have the Sky Miles. Because she wasn’t invited. The Wee One’s spokeshole claimed that there was only room for 150 people at the medieval crypt in which they were marrying, despite the fact that they invited about 500 people - - again, none of which were addressed to the all-powerful Oprah. Jada Pinkett-Smith brought her mother, for Xenu’s sake, but no olive branch to Oprah?
No, not at the wedding and apparently not at the after-party either. So does this mean that John Travolta will boycott the after-party, even if they promise the Mother Ship will be there, and the Ouija board will come out, to contact the festering spirit of L. Ron? My money is on Mrs. Travolta attending sans her Scientology-shirking hubby.
But to offend the Big O? And her housewife minions? Really, the Wee One has seriously lost all his marbles. Because I don’t think his balls are that big.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Jen and Vince Break Up for Real and Nobody Cares!


Awwww, Jen and Vince, you waited too long for your blockbuster news! In a week following the split of Kid Rock and Pamela Anderson (and I thought those crazy kids would make it work), Tori Spelling's garage sale, the public unveiling of Britney's vajayjay and her surprising camaraderie with Paris and LiLo, and Katie and the Wee One's return from their (cough) honeymoon, your little bombshell was bound to get passed over.
While I'm sure that People is crying into its printing press, is anyone surprised . . .or even care? Since these two never officially admitted they were dating, at least in a romantic sense, does this mean that they really were dating and they really have broken up? Are they re-releasing The Break Up? Is there something to promote? Or has it been an entire month without Jen on the cover of People?
You know what this means, folks. Next week. Jen gracing the cover of People yet again. And more sob stories to come on Oprah. Save me, Jesus! Save me, Tom Cruise!