It may be a day for lovin', but we're sure not feelin' it for the feelin'-no-pain Hilton honeys. Plus, totally, like, scary news: It looks like the current White House may be for lovers again. Say it ain't so!
Happy Valentine’s Day, all you Bitter Bettys and Happy Gilmores out there. I betcha think I’m in the V-Day hate camp, since being jaded is as popular as pregnancy nowadays in H-town. And back in my slutty bachelor days, February 14 was an ice-cold frying pan to the crotch, trust. It was like being confined to a wheelchair while there’s a national holiday called Isn’t It Great to Have Full Use of Your Legs? Day and every last bitch around you gets candy and canoodling from a cutie for not being a cripple.

But today, it’s midmorning and I’m already on my second box o' heart-shaped chocolates, washing it all down with a glass, half full, of l’amour. Disgusting, n’est-ce pas? I know, I think all the Godivas I just chomped on are coming back up.

Britney Spears, Adnan Ghalib

Fame Pictures, Inc

Maybe I’m just extremely elated that our Britney’s been sportin’ a pair of normal, ass-covering jeans around town with her mama, finally free of her fishnets and hot mess of pink hair. Too bad, since the wig woulda been oh so V-day apropos.

Looks like Lynne hasn’t kicked to the curb the real source of wrong-doing in Brit's slow recovery, her b-f Adnan. The alleged newlyweds are still playing house (or hotel room, rather) this V-Day, despite their rumored wacky Mexican marriage being as authentic as a fake Fendi gifted in Guadalajara.

Amy Winehouse, Blake Fielder-Civil

Kevin Mazur/

As if Britters and Badnan are the only counterfeit couples out there. I woulda called bullmerde on Eddie Murphy and Tracey Edmonds' faux-mance, if they hadn’t already saved me the trouble and called it quits themselves.

Amy Winehouse’s bond with hubbie Blake ain’t exactly picture perfect, either, since most of the time they’ve been together—in person, mind you, without a wall of plexiglass betwixt them—they were too high to take their romantic sitch seriously.

And Spencer and Heidi’s on-air love is about as ersatz as The Hills and Heidi’s boobs combined. I’d say they may as well get hitched, on TV during sweeps, ‘natch, but two robots aren’t yet allowed to marry each other in this country. Just like the fagolas. Might be legal in Sweden, though.

Kathy Hilton

Steve Granitz/

“Thanks—it was taken by a fan.”

Kathy Hilton to yours truly, when I complimented mama-boss H on a pic of daughter Nicky in the library of the family manse in Bel-Air

As long as everybody’s so damn busy tearing apart celeb mamacitas (Lynne Spears at the stake, anybody?), for damn good reason, let’s not ignore the couple who created the current Hilton hotbed badasses, Kathy and Rick Hilton. When dad R first heard of 18-year-old Barron’s run-in with the law, he issued a statement saying he’d be talking to his son instead of talking to the press, which, he had already done by issuing the damn release. Sorry, it’s trying to have it both ways. And why does Lynne’s quashed book on parenting skills come to mind right about now?
Barron Hilton, mugshot

Los Angeles Sheriff's Department

My sniffin’ colleague Marc Malkin broke yesterday that Kath 'n' Rick attempting to keep their eldest son in jail overnight to teach him a lesson. Now, I just adore M2 for finding this out—almost as much as I love Kathy for actually thinking this will do one bit of good. Darling girl’s a little late with the scolding lesson, but nice try.

Come on: This is a family that, much like Lynne Spears, raises its offspring to be commodities. A simple pic taken of Nicky (who designs bags no one buys) is provided by A fan of what? Overindulgence and privileged destruction? Is Barron going to start going through cars and mechanics the way Pare-poo goes through men, canines, hair extensions and BFFs?

Paris Hilton

DHA/ FamePictures

Point being, Kathy raises her kids to be what she missed out on becoming: a carefree star. Rick talks tough to the media before he does his own errant boy. These are folks, much like 'rents of other high-profile disasters right now, who are so busy defending themselves in the maelstrom that is celebrity reportage, their own flesh and blood are becoming even further discombobulated messes.

And, yes, it pains moi to write this as, ironically, I adore Kathy Hilton. She’s ballsy, stacked and always good for a bitchy quote (“dumb like a fox,” is how she first described P.H. to me, impressive décolletage heaving with every vowel). But this new Mother Earth phase is beyond the pale.

I mean, come on. This is a family that has garage sales and is forever “refurbishing” the Bel-Air digs. Not is all as it appears.

George Bush, Laura Bush

Ricardo Maldonado/EFE/ZUMA

My trash-talkin’ but terribly well-heeled Texas and Washington know-it-alls tell me Dubya’s looking to build in Dallas, still, and he’s having no luck finding a ghostwriter for his post-Oval Office tome, still. Laura’s BFFs, remember, live in Big D (in Highland Park, where this bitch was birthed), so, don’t be surprised if the real-estate war between north Dallas and more posh HP only heightens, just so the former prez can call either hood home.

I’d be paying the dude not to move into my hood, were it me, but it’s not.

President Bush


Also, for now, I have hideous news. 'Member how I broke that Laura B had moved out of the White House, because she was so pissed at Dubya for drinking again? Apparently, it worked. For now. “It scared him,” claim my Laura amigas, regarding the threatening tactic adopted by the current First Lady. “I don’t know if he’s not drinking anymore,” blabbed one L.B. crony. “But he’s behaving better.”

Merde. This new near-beer leaf is prolly just until the next prez gets elected, would be my guess (even dumbo Bush knows anything he blunders through, at this precarious time, will have the most consequences not on him but on McCain). Oh, and for whatever it’s politically worth, or not, Bush Sr., I’m told by those who hang with him, loves to show off his personal pics taken with Bill Clinton much more so than snapshots of his own son—why do I not find that surprising?

But that’s just nasty goss. The best kind!


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