On this maddening Monday, Madonna and her mister's marriage meets an end, surely, while K-Fed becomes his broken family's breadwinner—definitely foresaw the former, can't believe the latter. Also, whose got us hot 'n' bothered today? Maybe we shoulda gone to the George Michael show and had some giggles at Dr. Phil's expense?
Happy Monday, folks! Isn’t it fabulous to be alive, cantankerous and rarin’ to go for a full week of bitchiness? That said, let’s go straight to it with this week’s Pissed List:
Ex Press Herself: Madonna ‘n’ Guy Ritchie can’t control the reports that they’re divorcing, as the breakup brouhaha has finally reached respected newspapers, not just we silly gossip rags. Apparently Madge is hiring Paul McCartney's divorce lawyer—another case of someone copying the Beatles. We’re just pissed that Maddy couldn’t keep this under wraps. You surely must have more money than Tom Cruise; how come he can buy off all his bad press (like that silly Dr. Drew swipe at Tommy’s upbringing) and you can’t? You’re telling me kabbalah followers don’t have the same amount of power Scientologists do?
The Guy Who Shagged Me: Paris, Kim Kardashian and Pam Anderson are one thing when it comes to amateur celebrity sex tapes (or in Pare and K’s case, the sex tape preceded the worldwide fame). But both the definition of celebrity and the desirability of sex tapes has come to an end with filmed Verne "Mini-Me" Troyer naughtiness about to hit shelves for consumption, as it were. We thought Fred Durst doing it had tarnished the good name of cinematic sex, then Screech's stomach-turning threesome, but apparently, the sex-tape bar has sunk even shorter—we mean, lower—with V.T. banging this 22-year-old babe. On the other hand, this is prolly easier to sit through than The Love Guru.
Physician, Off Thy Self: The late Dondra West's old doc, Jan Adams, is one of the sickest things the AMA has ever approved. As if the ugly-ass doc’s collection of malpractice suits isn’t enough, he’s been allowed by the courts and medical boards of this state to continue to drive, much less operate a scalpel, with a collection of DUIs under his smock? Why this country allows people to get behind a wheel after one DUI is beyond me. And that’s really not even a medical issue. I think Adams should either get clean and sober or just go ahead and drink himself to death. He’s damaged far too many souls, as it is.
Please Just Stop the Music: God help us and our eardrums. It’s official. Lindsay Lohan set Nov. 4, inevitably to be called "Black Tuesday," as the release date for her third album, Spirit in the Dark—like dropping the equivalent of a musical atom bomb on us. Attention Hollywood: Acting and singing are not interchangeable. None of you is a Cher (except, well, Cher). If you have a so-called talent, just friggin’ stick to it. Although I don’t even know what L2’s supposed talent would be nowadays except for relationship confusion, which she sure excels at. Hey, does Whitney qualify for this portion of the Pissed List, too, today? Nah, she can act.
Kevin Federline is doing pretty A-OK as far as moola is concerned. K-babe has hooked up with a new cash machine, but this time it ain’t a pop star. He’ll be the new face of denim brand Christopher Brian Collection, and supposedly the four-time baby daddy is making seven figs for a smirk. Just a reminder that you can fail in every possible way, but as long as you successfully shack up with a topsy-turvy train wreck of a famous wife, you’ll be set. Add that amount to the bank K.F. gets hosting parties, like the Mansion bash in South Beach this past weekend, and he won’t be needing any more spousal support—not like that would ever stop him from taking it.
Funny that Feddy-boy was in Ef-Hell-Ay right before Britters finally got her overnight visitation started up again with the kiddos. Either Sean P and Jayden J are being strolled around a nightclub while daddy does his hosting thang, or the Spears-Federline nannies are doing the jobs of both parents. Maybe they should go to court to demand some custody? It’ll take a friggin’ village to raise these two tots, mostly 'cause both their folks seemingly refuse to do it.
Oh, and on that impossibly intolerant note—we’ll ease up just a tad, later in the week, promise—we must remind everybody of a few Madonna and Mr. Madonna factoids, since their union’s all but cracking as we cyber goss. Let’s see. M&G aren't exactly Romeo and Juliet, Jack and Rose or any other timeless cross-starred combo. We actually see Lindsay and Sam standing a better chance against the test of time. But still, sorta sad to say good-bye to the British filmmaker and his faux-British spouse, if these latest rapid-fire rumors are worth anything. Can’t say we didn’t blab it coming—these two never fully got on the way soul mates so often do. So let’s take a look back at their relaysh before the seven-year itch struck:
December 2000: Lady M and her Guy marry in Scotland, two years after meeting at a party thrown by Sting. Unforch, "Roxanne" ain’t their wedding song.
2005: Mad-hon admits in the documentary I’m Going to Tell You a Secret that she "wanted to end everything...my husband didn’t turn out to be everything I imagined him to be. "What were you expecting, a Sean Penn sequel?
October 2006: Madonna adopts li'l baby David from Malawi; Guy’s not so keen on the media circus that follows. 'Cause who on earth would expect an insane amount of publicity by marrying the most famous woman in the world?
March 2008: Madonna is inducted into Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Guy’s not there, but Justin Timberlake is, so no one’s complaining.
April 2008: Guy misses out on Madge’s Malawi doc at the Tribeca Film Festival.
May 2008: Guy finally shows up to an M event: his wifey’s film premiere at Cannes. But he grimaces while trapped in his tux the whole time.
June 2008: M-babe is seen ringless while dining with Gwyneth Paltrow at Nobu, as well as when strolling throughout New Yawk.
Madge could be back on the market by the end of the year—wonder if Lourdes' daddy, Carlos Leon, is single at the mo? What the hell is he up to anyway, besides swimming in a pool of moolah? Or Maddy’s gal-pal Sandra Bernhard? Those two had more fun (and more chemistry) on their infamous Letterman appearance in the late '80s than we ever saw between Mad and Guy.
Bill Murray used to frequent the Sleep Hallow Country Club in Westchester, right up near the Hudson River. Apparently Billy M, whose fam lived in the area for a while, did a whole lot more than play golf—all that Caddyshack experience put to good use. B.M. was a habitual heavy partier with the other preppie C.C. types in the über-posh, upstate New Yawk club. Old Man Murray kept up with all the younger, less famous fellas, claim our teed-off (not pissed off, mind you) sources. Nearing 60 and still partying like a wannabe rock star? Who do you think you are, Bill, Harrison Ford?
‘Course, Billy’s ex, Jennifer Butler, then packed up their things and headed the Murray clan down south, trying to curb her hubbie’s temptations. But a change in scenery doesn’t exactly determine a change in heart. Obvs Jen and Bill called it quits, quite gruesomely, we might add, with tons of lawsuit talk of abuse, affairs and addiction on Bill’s part. And we just thought he was a good actor in Lost in Translation, playing a washed-up actor frequently seen with a drink in his hand and a young gal by his side. Guess the guy went Method for that one.