Drunk on Dish

The bitch is back, and no, I don't mean me. It's all of you! All you nasty-mouthed heathens get your say in the mail bag today—plus, not everything is as it seems (quelle surprise) in Simpson love land, and La Vida Lindsay keeps us guessin' as much as her libation contents these days.

Not So Fast

"Very much a couple?!” screamed my Texan, big-haired source when I read to her People's account/apology/spin on the not-so-newsy news that pro stud and pigskin wrangler Tony Romo and Jessica Simpson are still, um, together. “Total bulls--t.” Really? "Why?" I pressed. Tell us nasty heathens more! “Firstly, they never really were a couple-couple,” added the Big D insider. “It was always something [father Joe Simpson] wanted more than either of them did. I think Tony’s just helping her through all the [Ashlee] wedding stuff, to save face and all.”

Don’t know about that. Saving embarrassed puss as Jess ex John Mayer is off gallivanting with professional margarita drinker Jennifer Aniston would be more like it. What Jess-babe really requires in this boo-hoo sitch is a Pete Wentz, i.e., somebody she picks, not daddy. Readers, any thoughts here?

I vote for one of the Jonas bros. And quit laughing—or calling the cops. It’s perf! And they don’t have to actually do anything, you know. (Jess is sometimes quite used to that.)

The City of Love Bites

Lindsay Lohan and her possessive roommate, traveling companion and supposed sponsor Samantha Ronson (who’s apparently slacking on the job) have another stamp in their passports. The inseparable pair's been pounding the streets of Paris, taking in all the sites and sounds of gay Paris. Staying at the Plaza Athénée in a three-thousand-American-bucks-a-night suite. Guess LiLo’s way overestimating the success of her leggings line—we woulda recommended the two-bunks-in-a-hostel route. Think a room that costs that much has one king-size bed or two?

SamRom, ‘course, is getting the ooh là là from French fans at a late-night discotheque while her travel bud is feasting all over something, we’re certain. Sam’s neck, perhaps? ‘Cause, natch, S.R. was seen sporting a hickey, ya know. First of all, a hickey? Seriously, Sam? You’re 30, not some 13-year-old trying to impress her pals in the locker room. What’s French for “really lame"? Secondly, who shows off a hickey unless they want it to be seen? They do sell scarves in France, babe. Ya know what else they got in the City of Love? Paparazzi. It’s not like ya didn’t know there’d be gazing eyes and rumors aflame once ya walked out of your hotel with a fresh bite mark on your neck...Unless you wanted it to get noticed—kinda like the time you parked at a well-lit gas station with a passed-out Linds in the passenger seat, the perfect locale for all the photogs on your tail to get a shot.

When are celebs like L2 and Brit (with her new BFF Mel) gonna wake up and realize they’re just bein’ given the ol’ PR screw, despite how good—or well-intended—it may feel?