Christina Aguilera is engaged. And, for whatever reason, I just can't get into this story. Maybe it's because she's marrying this guy and I'm pretty sure I could still bang her whenever I wanted, but it's probably cause the pics below showed up this weekend too. What the hell is wrong this girl. I feel compelled to mention that I didn't alter these pics in any way. This isn't me trying to fuck with her. This was her idea. I bet you the phrase "has anyone seen my heroin" was overheard a lot during this shoot, cause some daffy bastard looked at Christina and said, "yeah, you look ok, but what you really need is a mustache drawn on you so you look like a 19th century strongman. That's what guys want, guys like girls who look like they should be cackling maniacally and adjusting their monocle and top-hat while tying a damsel to the train tracks. Yeah, yeah like that, that's hot."

I really hope no one showed up here Monday morning looking for the most comprehensive Grammy coverage, because the dusty mummies who run those awards have made them so completely irrelevant, I didn't even realize they were on. Luckily citylimitsgrl (and that may be an alias) is more aware than I am. It seems the show this year was a typically raucous affair, with a dead man sweeping just about every category. I would take Ray Charles over just about everybody, but I find that a little suspect. Frankly I'm amazed that the fossils in charge even want black people to vote much less win their biggest awards, so I guess I have to give them some credit.

And apparently recording artist Britney Spears now has half as many Grammys as money shot artist Bill Clinton. Well done, Britney. Well done. I realize you were never all about the music, mostly your job was to be fuckable, but you're not doing too great at that lately either.

Oh well, whatever, the Grammy's have been dead to me for years and they’re gonna stay that way until I see the Dandy Warhols on stage with so much gold it'll be an affront to God.

I'm totally ok admitting that I don't understand the Oxygen channel. It's television for women, but every time I flip through there it's some movie about a woman getting her ass beat. Why that's entertaining, I'm not sure, but what has been entertaining is my brilliant lead-in to mention that Jennifer Love Hewitt has a new show on there. I'd rather watch a video of the inbred at my Starbucks pissin in the coffee I'm drinking right now than watch a romantic comedy on the Oxygen channel, but hey, I have eclectic taste. And really, all this was just an excuse to look up Jennifer Love Hewitt pictures for an hour without my girlfriend scratching my fuckin eyes out. I'll take my chances writing this article because like every other supermodel, my girlfriend is no genius. Even when she's sober she can barely read. I likes 'em dumb!

I really need to have my entourage arrange a meeting with Scarlett Johansson, because my crush on her is just about out of control. I'm actually a little surprised she hasn't made the first move, because I've been downloading as much porn as I can and then masturbating, but, it turns out, that's not as enticing to the ladies as you might think. I don't know if she's just stuck up or what, but...

Wait, what? Oh, yeah, I guess I need to make this newsworthy, so I'll just mention that she signed on to star in Mission Impossible 3 and then post some pictures.

So apparently Halle Berry won't be wearing million dollar shoes to the Academy Awards. Someone must have pointed out it's bad form to have a million dollars on your feet while at the same time wearing a black ribbon to show your "concern" over the mountain of dead in Indonesia. But the real victim here is me, cause I'd already written a brilliantly funny story about it. And since I'm too lazy to write something new, I'm posting it anyway:

"Halle Berry will wear diamond encrusted shoes with a net worth of one million dollars to this years Academy Awards. And if it's not an hour later right now and you're picking yourself up off the floor, you should probably read that first sentence again, cause I said "million dollar shoes." It's almost unthinkable. I didn't even spend a million dollars on prostitutes last year. In this country. If you're going to wear million dollar shoes, you might as well stop off somewhere and kick some orphans in the nuts, cause, really, its pretty much the same thing."

And to think, her selfishness almost cost you the hilarity of this article. Tsk, tsk Halle. Tsk, tsk.

"I am a very smart girl, and people don't realize that ... People think I am America's party girl, which is just stupid."

Well then, I don't know what kind of shananigans the paparazzi are up to, posting these pictures of Tara Reid leaving the Spyder club in Hollywood at 4am last week. I'm not sure what the Spyder club is exactly, but apparently it's some sort of library for super smart people because her eyes are bloodshot and she's so exhausted she has to be helped to her car. Poor little lamb must have been up reading half the night. Oh, and that beach must be some sort of library too. But that's not what those punk-ass photographers would have you think. Leave my little angel alone, you bastards!