The Meltdown: The friggin' Repubs downright busted Dubya's '06 camp with sleazy soliciting sexual escapades! Too fab! Indeed, the poor elephant types found themselves falling outta the favored masses, due to certain he-ho activities. Specifically, Eff-Hell-Ay Congressman Mark Foley fell victim to Internet intrigue, when it was revealed M.F. was gettin' his sex on via e-hookups. (Doesn't anybody cruise in real life anymore? I know, stupid-ola question.)
Marky-poo's IMs with an underage male page were par-tick de-lish. How ironic, when Foley himself instigated the legislation targeting sexual predators. Guess it was only a matter of time until he busted his own hard-on, huh? Then, like a backdoor-preferring bat outta burning hell, fellow evangelical 'publican Pastor Ted Haggard was outed by his fellatio-providing masseur, Mike Jones. This was even worse:
While spittin' down on gay marriage at his TV-friendly faith headquarters, P.T. was simultaneously poppin' pills, using crystal meth and parading his male body worker around. I think even Jesus believes in irony (certainly karma, or whatever you religious zealots want to call it), don't you?
Side Effects: These sexual deceivers provided the divine Donkey-dos a revival and certain House & Senate majority.
Future Effects: Perhaps in '07, snotty faithgoers will lock up the judgmental sentiments and open up to this lifetime. Perhaps these supposed "love all" bitches need to put aside the damning biblical dogma and just live?
The Meltdown: Skinny-minny Nic buried the hatchet with Paris, split with stylist Rachel Zoe and sought treatment for her weight issues before her biggest blunder of all: driving the wrong way on the 134 Freeway. In Glendale, of all places. Oh, dear. Cops found N.R. stopped in the carpool lane and talking on her cell phone. Nic passed a Breathalyzer test but admitted she'd smoked weed and taken feel-no-pain pills before her wild ride in the wildly wrong zip code.
Side Effects: Nic got herself an early holiday prezzie for her naughty moves: a DUI charge and a commemorative photo for the special moment. Maybe she can start a mug shot collection from her prior arrests? Lionel's precious one continues to work the Hell-Ay social scene as we cyber-goss. Makes perf sense to moi.
Future Effects: It ain't gonna be a happy new year for Nic if she gets convicted of this DUI, 'cause she already has one on her record. A second conviction means mandatory time in the slammer. Hope your new stylists, Cristina Erhlich and Estee Stanley, are cool with stripes or bright orange, babycakes!
The Meltdowns: While L2's freckled ass was in and outta the hospital all year for "exhaustion, asthma and dehydration," the head of Morgan Creek wasn't buyin' it. He sent a nasty-ass letter to Lohan, calling her out on her childish behavior and partying, which just happened to get leaked to the press. Linds also had a bustup with phallic toy Harry Morton, fought with Paris over Stavros and went all-out ape-poop when her former assistant showed up with Jessica Biel at the GQ Men of the Year Awards, leadin' Will Ferrell to call her a "freak." Ouch! Let's also not forget about her overdose (from whatever) at Chateau Marmont and her latest hot-spot hang: AA meetings, despite the fact that the gal's been seen downin' drinks all over H-town.
Side Effects: Ms. L.'s cinematic efforts, Just My Luck and A Prairie Home Companion, flopped. Her mom, Dina, supposedly moved out to Hell-Ay to supervise her charged child, even though I think Mama D. just wants to party alongside her daring daughter. And despite peeps' efforts to curb her partying, Lindsay continues to terrorize the Tinseltown social scene...with water bottle and AA medallion in hand for good measure, like she's some sorta high priestess of over-partying exorcism.
Future Effects: Lindsay's next job? A stripper, which she's been takin' pole-dancing classes for, in the movie I Know Who Killed Me. We all certainly know who's killing L.L.'s once bright career—herself.
The Meltdowns: Uh, take your picks, sugar pies: couch destroyer, Today host harasser, lickety-split courting dude or over-the-top groom and wedding planner. Not to mention a very public letting-go by Paramount Pics. I mean, the guy's had a real Job's Year of mishaps; only, it's as if it's all being reported through the pages of a Harlequin romance novel, what with all this Katie Holmes side-story crapola.
Which is exactly what this love story is supposed to be: something to get our minds off the most public falling apart of the year, in my not so humble opinion. Not saying Katie 'n' Tommy don't go wild fer each other with chocolate sauce on top, but let's get real: Tom needed the equivalent of a press resurrection; everybody in the executive suites of T-town knows this veddy well.
Side Effects: Katie Holmes' once promising career (Batman Begins, not included) is ruined. Mimi Rogers plays poker now more than I do, need I say more? Oh, and for those of you snits screaming Nicole Kidman right about now, sorry, baby-hons, Nic's in a diff league from Katie 'n' Mimi, entirely.
Future Effects: Depends, really, on how well T.C. performs and fares in Robert Redford's upcoming flick, Lions for Lambs, with Meryl Streep. Hit? He's golden, and all nutty 'n' incredibly unswallowable doings with Katie are forgiven. Bomb? One too many eff-ups and he's cooked.
By the by, I pray the T.C. scenario to be played out 'tis not the latter. As I've said before, I think he's a most primo actor—will always believe that. How can you not?
The Meltdowns: What a turbulent and triumphant year it was for our dear Brit! First, back in February, Ms. S. took a spin to Starbucks, left with a latte in hand and Sean Preston on her lap. Then poor S.P.F. fell outta his dysfunctional high chair, and Brit almost dropped him while walkin' in New Yawk. Baby bobbles aside, Brit filed for divorce from K-Fed and proceeded to party panty-less for nights on end. Love it fer aeons!
Thanks to Brit-hon's less than graceful car exits, we've all gotten far too up close and personal with her privates as of late. Oh yeah, and she got voted Worst Dog Owner of 2006 to top it off.
Side Effects: The Spears-Federlines got a little visit from the Department of Family and Child Services for the S.P.F. incidents. And after her commando parade, Brit's bits became the butt of everyone's jokes, even prompting Rosie O'Donnell to send her some skivvies. B.S. later wrote on her Website, "Thank god for Victoria's Secret new line of underwear!" Yes, indeed.
Future Effects: Brit never leaves home without undies again after seeing pics of her lady flower lookin' like it'd been hit one too many times all over the press. She starts logging QT with her two tykes, pronto, and hopes the courts won't give custody to Kevin in 2007. Plan on seeing a sit-down sob session on Oprah's couch lamenting her wild ways just as her new album is released.
The Meltdown: Uh, let's see: DUI happened Friday, July 28, in Malibu on PCH, Gibson was stopped at 2:09 a.m., after a Los Angeles County deputy sheriff allegedly observed Mr. G. driving his 2006 Lexus at more than 85 mph. M.G.'s blood-alcohol level was 0.12 percent, and Gibson, himself, stated: "I acted like a person completely out of control when I was arrested and said things that I do not believe to be true and which are despicable."
Sundry verbal meanderings from the aforementioned incident include Gibson's anti-Semitic and misogynistic remarks (including "sugar tits," spewed at one female copper). Since this DUI, M.G. has been on a publicity tour for his new movie—can't quite recall the name, just know lots o' dark-skinned people are in it and, apparently, they're evil and therefore are gruesomely killed. All this has the directors quite nervous, can't imagine why.
Isaiah Washington, let's not forget, chastised Grey's Anatomy costar Patrick Dempsey at the expense of gay Grey's star T. R. Knight with insults I won't repeat. It just makes "sugar tits" seem barely tolerable (which, of course, it ain't), let's say that much.
Side Effects: If it involves either man's career, let's hope audience aversion is heavily involved—at least until both men have donated piles o' loot to myriad civil rights organizations of every imaginable cause.
Future Effects: Bigotry, hopefully, is on its way out. Finally. So, thanks to heaps of the jokers like Gibson and all the others to whom I've just given these too-fab Sugar Tits Awards! Dubious congrats, all you hell-raising boobs!
And don't keep it up, whatever you do.