This should come as absolutely no surprise, but I am once again confused by Jessica Simpson.

While the bottom half of her outfit seems to scream “come and get it, sailor!”, the top half looks as if she going off to churn some butter after prayer service, which, judging from that fancy fabric, was obviously held in a disco. It also doesn’t help matters that her right hand is delicately set aside while her left is telling the paparazzi that her father has inappropriately touched her “this many” times today.

I just really hope she doesn’t dress like this for our big date tomorrow or I’m going to have to politely excuse myself during foreplay and slip out the back. And from what my grandmother keeps telling me, that’s a pretty rude thing to do to someone.

Hey everybody, let’s pretend it’s last Friday and I didn’t leave in the middle of this post to go see Broken Lizard’s “Beerfest”. This way you can act as if the following news item is hot off the wire and I can try to forget I just spent the last 72 hours on a fierce binge-drinking spree that culminated – according to police – in the rape of my neighbor’s dog.

Damn you, Hollywood! Damn you and the way you make me want to do things I see on the screen!

[insert appropriate pause here to regain sanity]

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

Ugly man about town William H. Macy surprised reporters Thursday by calling for the ass-kicking of every actor who’s ever been late to the set.

From People:

“I think what an actor has to realize (is that) when you show up an hour late, 150 people have been scrambling to cover for you,” Macy told reporters Thursday. “There is not an apology big enough in the world to have to make 150 people scramble. It’s nothing but disrespect. And Lindsay Lohan is not the only one. A lot of actors show up late as if they’re God’s gift to the film. It’s inexcusable, and they should have their asses kicked.”

If I could think of one man who’s been shot down with the phrase “not if you were the last man of earth” more times than me, that man would have to be William H. Macy. Not only does the guy bare a striking resemblance to my lesbian neighbor who likes to dress as a man from the 1950’s, but he could honestly pass himself off to kids in Disney World as a drunk Mickey Mouse with a Supercut. Something he may just end up doing if Lindsay Lohan wins the Oscar for “Just My Luck” next year and banishes him from Hollywood for good.

Oh my, the Emmys. I can barely contain my excitement. That’s why I’m here two hours early and watching the red carpet arrivals on E!. With beer. Lots and lots of beer. And rope. Lots and lots of rope, but not too much since I only live on the second floor.

6:02 pm – Ok, I’ve only been listening to Ryan Seacrest’s voice for less than sixty seconds and I already want him dead.

6:04 pm – Here comes Jennifer Love Hewitt. Ryan addresses her as “Love”. That’s what her friends call her. How did he know that?

6:05 pm – I just realized that if Ryan was dead, “Love” could whisper to him. She needs to be taken out, asap.

6:10 pm – My internet connection just went out for approximately four minutes. Someone is trying to tell me something. Or trying to stop me from revealing something. Oh, and by the way, Ryan Seacrest was a fat kid.

6:28 pm – Why yes, I did enjoy my nap. Thanks for asking.

6:32 pm – I just looked into the eyes of Tyra Banks. Somebody hold me.

6:50 pm – Seacrest just referred to Tom Cruise’s baby as “it” and that butterface from “King of Queens” looked like she was going to strike him down with the power of Scientology – also known in some circles as “a wet willy”.

6:55 pm – These Doritos are stale. Yes, I am live-blogging my dinner now.

6:57 pm – Ryan Seacrest is the shortest man on television. Everyone is taller than him. I’d actually feel bad for him if he wasn’t so damn short.

7:01 pm – I’ve never heard Heidi Klum speak before. Yet another illusion ruined for me.

7:02 pm – Patrick Dempsey is married to a forty-five-year-old ironing board.

7:07 pm – Jenna Fischer has the posture of Boris Karloff. Now that’s what I call sexy.

7:09 pm – Ok, I’m leaving. Randy Jackson just invited me to a hot tub party.

7:11 pm – Ok, I’m back. Apparently, “hot tub party” is the new Hollywood slang for “stoning Mel Gibson”. Sorry guys, but I’m saving my arm for the “dinner party” aka “stoning of Paris Hilton”.

7:15 pm – Ok, I’m bored. Maybe I should post a screenshot of something interesting.

7:18 pm – Yes, I had to turn the channel to ABC to find something interesting.

Read more…

Is Posh Beckham having a seizure? Is that cum in her mouth? Good god, someone check David! [The Green Straw]

Jennifer Aniston’s father has a heart attack. Way to misread the list, God. I want my twenty bucks back. [Dlisted]

So how long before Penelope Cruz mistakes her vibrator for the microphone on her karaoke machine and knocks all her teeth out? [Hotrag.net]

If they ever do a feature film version of the TV show “Night Court”, I hope they get Nicolette Sheridan to play Bull. Spitting image, I say. [In Case You Didn't Know]

Now that Cindy Crawford can’t find work, she’s decided to have work done on herself. [Celebrity Nation]

With legs like a chimney sweep, Brittany Murphy should really learn how to wash better. [The Skinny Website]

Former “American Idol” contestant Mikalah Gordon robbed at gunpoint. If caught, robbers could face mandatory hanging for putting this bitch back in the news. [TMZ]

“Survivor” to prove once and for all that white people can’t dance, black people can’t swim, Hispanics can’t read, and Asians can’t eat anything without rice in it. [Tabloid Whore]

I better get this cool celebrity scale for my birthday or I’m going to take all my anger out on Tom Cruise and make him cry. [Best Week Ever]

I will be live blogging the 58th Annual Primetime Emmy Awards this Sunday night. Posting will begin promptly when I fucking feel like it. BYOB. [The Blog You Love To Hate]

Now that Boy Geoge has finished his five days of community service, I have enlisted him to help me move this blog to a new server, and hopefully, better host. Look for everything to be fully operational again by the weekend. Unless, of course, my ability to pick hosts turns out to be as shitty as my ability to pick women then, yeah, I’ll probably just abandon the whole thing and go ride the H train with George for a while.

Editor’s Note: Boy George has “cankles”.