The Awful Truth

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Dear Ted:
Sorry to disagree with you on Lance Bass dancing with a male partner. If he did that, it would automatically put someone in the "male" role and someone in the "female" role. Someone has to lead, and in dance it is the male partner. So wouldn't that also be demeaning to a gay man—to be put in the female role? It's far more confusing than gay marriage, which should be a right, and I hope you don't waste a lot of time being insulted by it.
—Jasmolak

Dear 1 Step, 2 Step:
In a world full of girlie men like our state's governor, I hardly see why one man couldn't be dipped by another, if only for a dumbass reality job. It's show business, not Rosa Parks and the bus boycott.

Dear Ted:
What's the skinny on the presidential candidates? I'm studying both candidates from all angles. I happen to think what you know is pertinent to understanding their character. Thanks, you're fabulous.
—Terah

Dear Politically Correct:
Must say I was rootin' for my gal Hillary. We need an effin' Democrat in there, that's what I care about now. And how one looks in a tux, of course, and Obama takes the cake. McCain looks like a burrito in evening wear.

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AP Photo/Chris Miller; Lisa O'Connor/ZUMAPress.com

An utter madhouse in Denver, said our Desk DNC about last night's Lincoln-likening Obamania. The vibe on the scene was, ya might guess, overjoyed delirium, every soul in the stadium thinking B.O.'s speech was the perfect mix of hardass edge on McCain, all the while keepin' his cool and charisma. Our Dem eyes—with an inspired tear in 'em, surely–sat right behind loud-spoken left-winger Susan Sarandon, natch, and the almost too liberal Matthew McConaughey. (Well, his mom certainly is with her reports of her late husband's orgasm-induced death, that's fer sure. Hell, we need more moms like that in the U.S. of Boring A!)

We're shocked M2 didn't show up to Invesco Field with a brewski and burger, thinking he was about to see a football game. Nice to see celebs mingling with the normal folk when they're forced to. Of course, it's all such an act, no wonder H'wood endorsements usually kill a politico's climb, but we'll ignore that nasty little factoid, for the moment.

And then this morning, 'course, McCain stole Barack's thunder by dropping his own type of change—picking a female for veep, Alaskan Gov. Sarah Palin. Smart move there, Johnny. Sure, ya picked a woman as conservative as they come, but all the Americans who want a woman in the White House who isn't first lady will think twice about voting blue now. And S.P.'s a beauty queen, no less. (OK, sure, a runner-up for Miss Alaska in '84, but how many beauty pageants has Hillary ever competed in?)

Senator J.M. sure has an obvious type, huh? Just about every lady around him is prim' 'n' proper and oh-so camera ready. We're just miffed that Tina Fey is no longer on Saturday Night Live, 'cause damn if both brunet and glasses-wearin' gals don't look identical to one another. Such the sorely missed opportunity there.

—Additional reporting by English-screwin' Becky Bain

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We caught up with the reigning dumbfounded duo this week at the Pepsi 500 NASCAR party at H'wood's Avalon, and although the bash had squat to do with reality TV, bitchy back talking or living in luxury without having to work a real job, Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt were there, promoting their existence to the crowds.

Naturally, we were intrigued as to what was goin' on in their little peroxided brains. Let's see how this dippy duo does off the MTV cameras, shall we? Politics are as popular as The Hills this year (and just as realistic). We know the gun-totin' twosome are pro-Republican, so what would ya tell Hillary to convince her to vote for McCain?

"I don't know what I could tell Hillary," durred out Heids.

What's that? No arguments for the presidential candidate you're endorsing? OK, let's try an easier one: Tell us about your dream wedding?

"Mine involved unicorns flying around," said Ms. Montag. "You know, a huge wedding with white everywhere."

Guess you drew your inspiration from Lisa Frank Trapper Keepers growing up? We wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if you wanted teddy bears as your groomsmen and Malibu Barbie to be your maid of honor. Mushy more:

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Call it One Matronly Messing Around Blind Vice. Shirley Surly's a very famous half to a highly visible couple these days. Both spouses are good looking. Both married types act like they're friggin' single, and they've done this for years.

Not saying they've had orgies after the PTA meetings every other Tuesday, just that these two ain't exactly a Tom-and-Rita-type duo, not at all. And even though Shirley and her man are currently doing their damnedest to patch things up, we're told it's just because they want to look more together in their fancy neighborhood (what a friggin' lame reason, obviously this latest effort at a unified domestic front is so not going to work).

Shirley's bitchy friends—who just adore the Awful Truth, thank get-even heavens—are most def not buying this nascent happy-couple act. And their fave reason for citing why they insist S2's attempt is not going to last? "Her affair with the surfing instructor," bellowed one of these big-haired broads. "They're just never going to get past it, I don't think."

Love! It's all like some movie Aaron Spelling would have written before he croaked, starring Donna Mills or Lori Loughlin, or somebody. Maybe he did? Anyway, things don't look too sweet for sour Shirl's and her hubby—a happy 'n' squeaky ending does not appear forthcoming, promise. 'Cause the hunky dude with the board ain't the only cat in this pussy's bag.

And It Ain't: Kate Capshaw, Annette Bening, Hillary Clinton

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Like a hideous Steven Spielberg-created creature, it’s here! A 50-year-old Michael Jackson now occupies precious space on our ever-endangered planet. Are little boys safe? Guess I’ll leave that to the preposterously celeb-ass-kissing West Coast courts to decide.

On better and second hunch, let’s not. Let’s not forget the depositions which contain harrowing descriptions of acts no child could dream up, no matter how much their parents might have been dreaming of green. Happy B-day and no more, we say, Jacko.

And on lighter (and blonder) but perhaps also fake happenings, Jessica Simpson is yapping away to the press Michael Lohan-style about her relaysh with Tony Romo, calling him “the love of my life.” Nicer things than Daddy Lo & Co. have been swapping back and forth, but just as stupid.

Hasn’t J-babe learned anything from the last time the two parted ways, right after a similar media cupid spilling? Learn a thing from Ashlee about keeping coy, huh? We’re on your side, hon, we like ya happy.

—Additional English-screwin’ reporting by Becky Bain.

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Poor Mac. Babe just posted bail, but, honeys, was it a long time in coming. Let's see, Mackenzie's spent two days behind bars so far for her coke-and-heroin arrest at LAX yesterday. Went through hell just to get $10,000 scrapped together for bail. And let's see, her dad's estate is worth many millions of dollars and provides residuals of around $5 mil a year, at least, I'm told by musical experts.

Dad John Phillips, of Mamas and the Papas fame, owned "half to a quarter share of a lot of their hits," relayed a top music source, "and a few others, including the Beach Boy's "Kokomo." Gosh, stepmom Michelle, half sis Chynna and sis Bijou hoggin' it all for themselves? Unlikely on the latter, as B was one of the few Mac supporters who showed up in Van Nuys to help out her troubled sibling, who has a long history of relapsing into druggie black holes. How sad there's yet another one going down for Mackenzie.

And if these falling-off episodes go in threes, just like celebrity deaths always do, wonder who's next in luckless line behind Tatum and Michelle? Readers, any guesses?

Back at the hardly glam Van Nuys jail (no Bev Hills Winona Ryder-style law torture for this broad!) and regarding the rather small bail M.P. had to post, one of the legal types present bitched:

"It is such a small amount that it reveals to me that it is not about the finances. It may be about personal punishment," said the legalese insider. "Some people decide to leave their loved ones in jail."

Hey, didn't the family Hilton try to pull this admonishing bull with son Barron, when he got pulled over for boozy driving? Yeah, that little lesson worked out really well.

Phillips is scheduled to appear at the Airport Courthouse on La Cienega at 8:30 a.m. on Friday, to answer for the felony charge.

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Just had a li'l instant messaging tête-a-tête with an A.T. snooper who got an inside (and slightly insane) scoop of Mariah Carey's on-set bonkers behavior during the horrific Hawaiian music vid shoot for "I'll Be Lovin' U Long Time," surely the only song title to reference a movie quote delivered by a Vietnamese prostitute. Well, at least until Lindsay Lohan's next album. Check out the totally true and awful antics from someone who had to live through it...

MimiBlabber08: My friend works on a bunch of famous pop videos, and I ran into him and asked him how he was doing.

MimiBlabber08: He said he just worked on the worst music video of his life—Mariah Carey's "I'll Be Lovin' U Long Time."

MimiBlabber08: I asked him what it was like working with Mariah.

MimiBlabber08: And he said, "She's crazy as a loon."

MimiBlabber08: "Totally nuts."

MimiBlabber08: I was like, "Why, what did she do?"

MimiBlabber08: And he pauses and lowers his voice and says, "She has a midget!"

MimiBlabber08: My eyes popped open so wide that dust got in it and I couldn't see right the rest of the day.

MimiBlabber08: I was like, "What do you mean? Just like a purse?"

MimiBlabber08: And he said, "The entire time, she drinks this shitty screw bottle of pinot noir. She would be drinking out of this glass and whenever the glass would be empty, she'd hand it over to a midget standing nearby."

That's not it, folks. Keep reading for more mind-boggling Mimi mishaps, beyond midgets:

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Jeff Frank/ZUMAPress.com, Jemal Countess/Getty Images, Alexandria Wyman/Getty Images

Another day, another drama with the Lohan fam. Can't they be like every other dysfunctional American family and argue about all their personal probs on one fabulous D-list reality show together? Do we really have to have all these platforms and factions? Such the headache.

Sam and Lindsay launched a double bitch-attack on their MySpace blogs against daddy Lohan being an anti-Samite. But hey—before we get to the hater goss to come—ain't writing a blog post the same damn thing as Mikey Lohan blabbing to reporters? A blog's no longer an outlet for you to vent with just your personal pals. It's a form of media, and you knew every goss org would pick it up and repost your daddy attacks. Don't think you're any better than M.L. You just chose a different format for your bitching about family trubs.

Why doncha take the Jennifer Aniston high road and not say a word about the whole mess—and get your friends to do the back-talking for ya?

Or buy a marble notebook, decorate it with stickers, and keep your angst in there, if you're so set on keeping so-called private matters private. But we all know—thank heavens—that's not happening. And religion's to blame, really. So much blood's shed around this world over that stupid s--t, we swear.

After all, daddy Lohan's gone on record as stating he doesn't approve of L.L. and S.R. being as intimate as they are due to his religious objections, which is really such BS. And when pops Lohan was asked privately if he had probs with Lindsay and Samantha being a couple, "Oh yeah," was his immediate response, insist these firsthand Lo-witnesses.

So, ya see, Linds-love can take Dina pimping out their family, but not Michael (who's doing the exact same thing by not keeping the kooky clan's differences private), because homophobia's getting thrown in for a little hateful measure.

No wonder the blogging wars are just beginning. Trust us on this one.

—With additional English-screwin' reporting by Becky Bain

Gaz Shirley, PacificCoastNews.com

“We don’t watch The Hills.”

—Spencer Pratt on his and Heidi's TV-viewing habits. Wow, who knew Spence was such a bad actor? Such the shocker! Learn to lie better, baby, you’ll go so much farther in this blondie-backstabbing town, trust

BAUER-GRIFFIN.COM

Just a few months (trust us on this) out of the dating game Jen Aniston already has a new man interested in her. Sure, he's twice her age and married, but beggars can't be choosers, can they? Jenny and Woody Allen have shared private time in Bev Hills—now, should Soon-Yi be worried, or ScarJo? Scuttlebutt on the T-town streets is Woods wants to cast Ani-babe in his next flick. No better way to brush off a broken relaysh like showing the world—in a pap-friendly hang city, no less—that you're still a wanted woman, especially desired by every H'wood actor's wish-list director.

Jenny could stand to class up her act again after dating doofuses like Vince Vaughn and Mayer—and starring in failures like Rumor Has It and Friends With Money. The Woodster's next film is rumored to be a romance, like Ani-babe could do anything besides play a romantic lead. Then again, let's give the girl some cred—she was terrific as a terrified teen in Leprechaun.

In fact, let's give Woody a break and write the movie for him, OK? Jennifer Aniston stars as a neurotic single New Yawker who plots the murder of her ex and his beautiful new brunette babe, who happen to live in the high-rise space above hers. She teams up with her landlord, an old Jewish type with black wire-framed specs (W.A.'s supporting part, natch) to sneak into their apartment and murder them by blowing off their impossibly beautiful heads. But things go awry when Jen and her old-man accomplice fall in love, despite a 70-year age difference.

They see a lot of black and white movies, eat too many enchiladas and drink a butt load of wine, and there's a scene where Jenny kisses Courteney Cox in a quick cameo—not because it has anything to do with the plot, but as a way to get people to see the movie. It ends with Jen and her BF breaking up, as most of J.A.'s relationships do, duh. Art imitating life, as always.

—Additional English-screwin' reporting by Becky Bain

Are wedding bells ringing for Justin Timberlake and his hon-bun, Jessica Biel? What puts potential first lady Cindy McCain in dangerously high gear? Plus, is Paris Hilton stalling in more ways than one? Start you gossipy engines in Truth, Lies & Ted...

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We've decided we hate the beginning of the day as much as Mondays, so, heretofore, we're getting pissed off every damn ayem, so good morning and ef you! Kidding, love you, don't mean it!

Ah, see the kind of crank-a-thon moods those stupidasses Mackenzie Phillips and Matthew McConaughey's mom, Kay, are putting us in? Really, the crap they're respectively pulling—reportedly walking through an airport security check with heroin and coke, and writing about how the daddy of your son passed on while diddling you—make Tatum O'Neal's line about how she bought crack for a movie part seem downright genius.

First of all, I knew something was up with Phillips when we did a stage reading of Valley of the Dolls (she played Miriam Polar, I played some queen named Ted Casablanca). Not only did Phillips fall down onstage, trample everyone's lines and forget her own, she couldn't wait to leave so she could haul ass across the country to go hook up with some twentysomething. Sounds hot, but it wasn't. It was sad.

Almost as tragic is a celeb's mom writing about how she was screwing the dad of said celeb (without whom, by the by, she wouldn't have a book deal in the first place, as who cares what stage moms like Lynne Spears have to say about their otherwise designing, opportunistic lives, anyway?). So, do we really need to know it was coitus interruptus rigor mortis for Matthew's dad?

And if we do, shouldn't some creep like me be delivering that nasty biz? I mean, I broke that drunk-off-his-butt stuff M.M. just pulled down in Nicaragua. Kinda makes sense now, doesn't it, that Matty was friggin' celebrating the fact that he was caught down there with his toes toasted? His own mother uses her husband's sensational passing for a book deal.

And these famous folks say we're heathens? Gimme an effin' break.