Sly Stallone looks like he got into a kissing match with a drag queen and lost. [The Green Straw]

Lindsay Lohan’s father writes her another letter, but this time uses boring words like “God” and “Jesus” instead of the always fun “whore” and “traitorous cunt”. And people ask me why I hate Jesus. Fucking killjoy. [Celebrity Nation]

Dumb blondes in dumb poses… – a post so simple, it’s genius. [Popbytes]

Katie Holmes says she will give Tom Cruise another child if he marries her. Let’s see his boyfriend try to top that. [Celebrity Silliness]

Kirsten Dunst is the skankiest skank to have ever skanked. [Hot Online News]

Ok everybody, get ready because I’m about to shock you: Steven Tyler has Hepatitis C. So, did you just drop your baby? If so, that’s murder one, you clueless fuck. [Tabloid Whore]

Scarlett Johansson dresses like a Fonzarelli. [The Skinny Website]

Scarlett Johansson was “a nervous wreck” before her first Brazilian wax. Hey, an erection at the wrong time could be embarrassing for her. [Hotrag.net]

Don’t be fooled by imitations. Jared Leto is the biggest loser you’ll ever hope to meet. [Best Week Ever]

Vanessa Minnillo plans to send risqué photos of herself to Nick Lachey via e-mail. If you would like to do the same, you can send your sexy photos to Nick at erichvonstroheim@theblogyoulovetohate.com [Celebrity Week]

In his upcoming autobiography to be released sometime next month, former reality star Jack Osbourne tells of a sordid life full of alcohol abuse, drug abuse, and sister abuse that finally culminated one night in a half-assed suicide attempt involving some poorly prescribed anti-depressants and a bottle of absinthe.

Excerpts from “21 Years Gone“:

On his father Ozzy’s drug addiction:

I’d see my dad taking pills, and I would go to the shop and buy myself a box of Tic Tac mints. Then I would bring them home and swallow them down – just to be like him.

On his abuse of alcohol:

I WOULD drink nine or 10 tequilas, then just as many beers, and end up vomiting in the street. And I knew my mum would get a phone call from somebody who had seen it all happen.

On the fun he had abusing his sisters:

From the moment I became a teenager I started having trouble controlling my temper. I would have these incredible fits of rage. I’d trash my room and get into really nasty vicious fist fights with my sisters. I think the boiling-point for my parents came when I held a knife to Kelly’s throat.

On his poorly planned suicide attempt:

How I survived, I don’t know. Twelve hours later I woke up. I don’t remember if I felt relieved or upset that I was still alive, but as I looked at the remnants of my suicide attempt around me I suddenly felt very alone. The half-drunk bottle of absinthe and the bottles of pills seemed to stare back at me, daring me to try again. The loneliness and depression that had plagued me crashed over me once more, so I called the only person I could think of calling: my therapist.

Oh Jack, you poor thing, you have truly suffered the tortures of the damned. If I could hug you right now, I would; but only long enough to lull you into a false sense of security before splitting your eye open with a head butt and kicking you in the balls to show you what real pain and suffering is like.

Now I’m not going to pretend I know exactly what they taught you up at that fancy rich boy school of yours, but I would guess there was at least one lesson that dealt with how not to fuck up a golden opportunity like being born into a famous family with lots of money. Of course, knowing you, the lesson probably occurred while you were passed out in the lav with shit running down your leg so I guess I just answered my own question there. Which, if you think about it, is pretty impressive since I went to public schools and can barely deduce why my penis throws up white stuff when I pull on it.

It’s because I’m an android, right?

Editor’s Note: Don’t know what to go as for Halloween? Well, why not go as Jack Osbourne? Seriously. You can buy a Jack Osbourne costume at Amazon. Man, I honestly don’t know what to say anymore.

Before I begin, I would like to make it perfectly clear that I have never actually met actress Reese Witherspoon. Incredulous, I know, but it’s true. In fact, if there’s anyone out there who doubts such a claim, I will be more than happy to e-mail you a picture of my testicles and you can see for yourself that they are still firmly attached to my body. Just keep in mind though that the two-inch scar on the left was caused by a chance meeting with Jennifer Aniston and not by Miss Sweet Home Alabama herself.

So now that we’ve got all that messy truth out of the way, I think it’s about time I told you all something you probably already know. Namely, that Reese Witherspoon is a bitch. And not just your average garden variety bitch either, but the kind of bitch who would buy a cake with the words “It’s warm in heaven” on it and then go eat the entire thing in front of a bunch of homeless people. Not that I’m saying she actually did that with the cake she’s carrying here, but you have to seriously wonder if she thought about it.

No, I think it’s much more likely that she just took the cake home and ate it in her driveway. That way she could walk into her house and have her kids ask, “what’s that all over your jeans, mommy?” and she could answer, “cake.”

“You mean, my birthday cake, mommy?”

“No, I told you, ugly children don’t get birthdays; they get spankings.”

“Ah, fuck you, mommy.”

Bitches beget bitches.

Editor’s Note: Because she looks like one, that’s why.

After watching last night’s episode of “Survivor: Cook Islands”, I am convinced that the screening process for contestants goes a little something like this:

Production Assistant: “Name?”

Contestant: “Erich.”

Production Assistant: “Made-up occupation?”

Contestant: “President.”

Production Assistant: “Of?”

Contestant: “My kitchen.”

Production Assistant: “Ok, you’re in. The helicopter leaves in one hour. And remember, making eye contact with Jeff Probst is strictly prohibited.”

Editor’s Note: If you ask me, Billy should have been born in simpler times. Like say the 1940’s. According to the movies I’ve seen from that era, people were always falling in love at first sight. And getting married too. And did you know that at least half the population knew how to tap dance? And that no matter where you were, if you rang a little bell, a black man would suddenly emerge with your favorite drink on a tray? Man, movies were just teeming with realism back then. I miss that.

That’s right, and for once, I’m completely serious.

Because of my fondness for the Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise and all things Jordana Brewster, I will be giving away three prize packs – courtesy of New Line Cinema – to celebrate the opening of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning” on Oct. 6.

Each prize pack will include:

An original “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning” key chain [check it out]
An original “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning” T-shirt [check it out]
A two-disc special edition DVD of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” remake from 2003. [The one with Jessica Biel in it. Yeah, who doesn’t want that?]

For a chance to win, all you have to do is send an e-mail entitled “Texas Chainsaw Massacre Giveaway” to erichvonstroheim@theblogyoulovetohate.com and let me know what your favorite film from the franchise is [FYI: there are six of them including this newest one]. If you don’t have a favorite, however, don’t worry about. Just write down “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning” and I’ll assume you’re psychic.

The fine print:

Only one entry per person. [My mailbox is full enough.]
Entries must be received by 11:59:59 pm on October 9th. [I have my stopwatch handy.]
All winners will be chosen at random. [Hooray for fairness!]
All winners will be notified by e-mail on October 10th. [Unless I’m dead, then you may have to wait a bit longer.]

Good Luck!

Editor’s Note: If you’ve never seen the 2003 remake of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”, then you really need to win this contest or at least steal borrow twenty bucks from your mom’s purse to buy a copy. Because I’m telling you, things don’t get much better than watching Jessica Biel haul ass and hurdle over fence posts for a half an hour. It’s like pure nirvana, man. Only with a lot more blood than heroin.