Amidst my girlish spring cleaning today, I came across this 30 second video from The Independent Spirit Awards which originally aired way back on March 4th. Since my long term memory has a shelf life of approximately three days, I can’t exactly remember why I capped this portion of the show but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with watching host Sarah Silverman act like a pimp.

The only problem though is that since I am not exactly educated on the art of pimping, I’m not really sure who is being pimped here. I like to think it’s the Olsen twins since pimping them out on live television could only help American tourism, but after viewing the video a few times, I realized that it might actually be actor Jeremy Piven who’s being pimped out here.

But regardless of who the pimpee is, I do know one thing for certain: the Olsen twins are creepy. Like “Village of the Damned” creepy. Because every time I see them outside of a movie or television show, they look like soulless creatures waiting for the devil to give them their next cue. And when that happens, look out; because not even Dolph Lundgren himself will be able to stop them from stealing your life energy and torturing you with stupefying utterances like “Rock and Roll” or “I love you, Uncle Jesse”.

You’ve been warned.

After watching last night’s all-new episode of “Lost”, I have come to but one conclusion:

The island is run by hippies.

Dirty, smelly, spaced-out hippies who have nothing better to do than to lounge around and giggle at the weird shit they write on the doors of their swinging psychedelic hippie hatch. Weird shit that can only be seen with the aid of some kind of funky black light and can only be truly understood after blitzing your lungs with a couple of bong hits - which is probably why someone as sober as John Locke simply sat there so dumbfounded tonight and why you’re probably doing the exact same thing.

If you really want to understand a hippie, you have to think like one. So, in an effort to help you understand the above screenshot, I have provided some musical accompaniment to go along with an even larger screenshot on the next page. Hopefully, all of this coupled with your own bong should easily lead you to an understanding of tonight’s crudely drawn map [which, unsurprisingly, has a kind of “flower power” design to it].

The only thing I ask in return is that if you somehow solve the mystery of the island, you pick up the phone and call creators J.J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof so they can know too. This way they can finally stop writing themselves into a corner and actually get on with the show before Day 80 rolls along and Jack looks 90.

Question: “How do you know when you have too much money?”

Answer: “When you end up buying midgets to entertain you.”

According to Page Six, Britney Spears hired no less than three midgets [sorry, I mean “vertically-challenged midgets”] to entertain both her and her husband during his seemingly endless birthday bash in Las Vegas last week.

From Page Six:

At Federline’s birthday last week at Tao in Las Vegas, Spears had two female midgets carry in his birthday cake. One night later, the couple was back at Tao for a special performance arranged by Spears. A Cher impersonator sang “If I Could Turn Back Time” before “she” was joined by a midget Sonny Bono impersonator, and they both sang “I Got You Babe.”

Stories like this just make me sick to my stomach. To think that someone like Britney Spears is continuously allowed to enslave midgets like this is positively maddening and not at all good for midget morale. In fact, I can assure you that somewhere out there right now, some poor midget family is crying out over the loss of one of their own after papa midget or mama midget was suddenly whisked away in the middle of the night to work on the Spears plantation - the one place that every midget in the world fears, if only because hand rolling Cheetos for the master is not necessarily a career path normally chosen by midgets in the midget community.

Midget. Midget. Midget.

I can only hope that one day soon the government steps in and finally reprimands Britney for her use of midgets; because, contrary to popular belief, midgets are not toys to be played with or cheap labor to be exploited. They are precious things to be valued. For without them, who would guard the pots of gold or bear those evil rings meant for destruction. Not me, that’s for sure. I can barely tie my own shoes without getting dizzy and throwing up. And definitely not Britney. Hell, she can’t even drive without a midget on her lap. And that, my friends, is just pathetic.

Note to Britney Spears: Seek help, girl. Midget dependency is not cool. Or healthy. Hell, just look at ya. You really need to dry yourself out and soon.

Editor’s Note: Because I am so god damn unpredictable, I’ve decided to end this post with recent photographs of our two favorite shitheads in Atlanta, instead of the widely available ones from Vegas. This way I can further illustrate to you that when you’re a rich celebrity with lots of time to kill, you just don’t have simple birthdays. You have full blown mother-fucking birthmonths.