Who's Effin' Who?

Somebody’s bangin’ underage in Hollywood; plus, other equally nasty habits in two Friday Blind Vices! How horribly fab! Plus, what up, Robin? Why have Mr. & Mrs. Williams decided to call it quits after such a record-breaking stint for celebrated couples? Is the missus already spreading nasty nonsense? Or is Robin the baddie here? Let’s delve!

What did Robin Williams' estranged wife, Marsha, think was going to happen? After all, he was married to another woman when they hooked up, correct? Yep. Have never understood why women who settle down with dudes like that think this time their guy will be diff.

'Course, Williams and his second wife did last 19 years. But that was 19 long years, babes. M stuck by her man through very public battles of addiction and such. Was not easy. Wasn't easy for Robin, for that matter! But after sticking through stuff like that, plus the raising of their kids, why on earth did Marsha file for divorce?

I know both folks, and they ain’t talkin’. At least not directly to moi. However, Robin sure is busy wearing self-explanatory ef-you wear (catch his tee showing off a heart with a dagger through it the other day?), and Marsha has many, loyal amigas standing close by her side. They’re letting slip the fact that Robin may not have had his eye just on keeping things entirely peachy domestic with Marsha these past few years, whatever could they mean?

Calls into official Camp Williams have not, as yet, uncovered much besides “no comment,” and the ol’ standby “this is a private matter.” Always love that one for public figures, but whatev.  More will be revealed next week, promise.

Oh, and if you detected anything remotely bitchy from Camp Cleanup, just keep in mind, the same put-upon repper worked for Heath Ledger at the time of his death, not to mention toils still for the colossally crusty Sean Penn, who was reportedly visiting other gals down the hall from the hotel room he was sharing with his wife, Robin Wright Penn, back in December. This is a tale that, by the by, the exhausted flack not only laughs at and says is totally bogus, she insists, "Robin was the first one to laugh at that story."

Should we, too, Robin?

 

Anna Kournikova spent Easter Sunday in Ef-Hell-Ay, slurpin’ up supper with friends and fam alike. A.K. was the last to arrive. (Even she knows how a celeb rolls, elegant Easter etiquette be damned.) The tennis looker ordered a tomato onion salad and steamed plate o’ veggies—it’s a holiday, babe, you can lay off your superstrict diet for a damn day! The party moved to the outdoor dining area, where cocktails flowed, ya know, how the son of God woulda wanted it. Kourni-cutie still couldn’t indulge in some high-calorie Peeps, instead ordering a gigantic fruit platter for herself and all the ladies for dessert. After a few more cheers-ing with rosé, Anna K footed the heavy bill. Gal’s prolly sorry she didn’t get to spoil herself silly and chomp on anything salivating. Sucks.

Portia de Rossi lunched with a lady pal at Luna Park on Miracle Mile. Porsh-poo and pal discussed business (somebody get this hilarious hottie back on TV where she belongs, I’m sick of her playing Ellen’s second hausfrau fiddle) while munching on grilled artichokes, Cobb salads and turkey burgers. So healthy! Crap, somebody serve 'em some cake. Also hangin’ on the healthwise side in the same joint were...

Matthew Perry and two non-Friends friends. The Perry party, who nosy onlookers described as “pleasant and private” (did they expect M.P. to shout out Chandler Bingisms?), snacked on four orders of Brussels sprouts, blech. I know Hell-Ay’s a tofu-'n'-yoga kinda place, but you do know they also serve food with a taste in T-town, right? You’re off the air for now, Matty, indulge while you can. Also partaking in the rather popular Luna Park’s delicious dishes were... 

Nick Cannon and a guest, who wandered into the go-to funky spot, gorging on a make-your-own-s'mores dessert like a true champ. Finally, someone not scared of a li'l chocolate in H-town, what wonders. The pair sipped up Shirley Temples, despite N.C. being six years safe over the legal limit. Does anybody but preteens and AA members order Shirley Temples? Just add a little vodka to that child-star-inspired drink and you’ve got yourself a Lindsay Lohan.

Blythe Danner was all class as she flew American Airlines first class from LAX to Newark, En-Jay. Moses and Apple’s grandma traveled in full golden-age glory, dressed in couture black, blond locks flowing down, looking simply stunning. Hope Gwynnie’s just as glorious when she’s Bly-babe’s age. Also snapping up some fancy frequent-flier miles was...  

Mo'Nique, also sucking up first-class comfort on the same AA flight. The plus-size diva wore a sporty and spicy hot orange track suit, complete with some designer sunnies. Mo-hon made sure to smile at some coach-ridden fans who spotted her. We’d make a “how could they not?” comment here, but we’re too sophisticated to chuckle at a chubby joke. Or guess we’re not.

Dear Ted:
How is K-Fed paying child support to Shar Jackson if his only employment is hosting his own B-day party in Vegas? Is he using Britney's money that she pays for S.P. and J.J.? And why shouldn't K-Fed get a job and make his own financial contributions? He'll bleed Britney dry, then he and Shar can officially hook up again and live happily ever after in Beverly Hills.
  Suzanne
  Sebring, Fla.

Dear Detective Done-Her-In:
Seems you’ve got it all worked out, eh? Problem is, Shar beat you and K-Fed to the green-grabbin’ punch. Long before things went sour between Brit ‘n’ K-Schmuck, Shar-hon made an astute decision to be on excellent terms with Britney (which has its rewards). This continued friendship has nothing to do with what the man between them may or may not be doing—or who he’s doing. Shar also swore to yours truly she's done with that whiskered sperm machine. Actually, I see Brit ‘n’ K getting back together long before Shar and him, sorry.

Let’s see here, we’ve got one inappropriate Missy Manners Blind Vice comin’ up, plus one equally outrageous sex number (quite scandalous, if true). Which one ya want first? The naughty nooky one, 'course, so let’s go, my X-rated gumdrops.