Nancy Kaszerman/ZUMApress.com; Gamma ZUMAPress.com
by Ted Casablanca | Wed., Nov. 26, 2008 6:01 AM
Nancy Kaszerman/ZUMApress.com; Gamma ZUMAPress.com
While the Awful Truth is off for the holidays this week, we certainly don't want to leave you in the lurch, like Madonna did with Guy when she hit Star Island (where pal Rosie O. has a pad) this week. Of course, we told you that ages ago—that the gal who used to call herself Missus Ritchie so proudly, is now—so proudly—going around as the new A-Rod bitch. But it's so the other way round, trust. A-Rod just doesn't know it. Yet.
Back to our awards. As it's the bird-basting season, decided we must reveal who has (and hasn't) been the biggest greased turkey so far this year. Just in time for all that end-of-the year trophy nonsense. Call it getting-in-the mood mayhem!
And, unlike our own year-end awards, the following dubious recipients are in no particular order, let's just consider it a free-for-all open season, OK? Without further ado, here come the turkeys who've been really big jerkys!
Nicole Kidman: Plucked
As if having her bodyguard beating up the paparazzi wasn't enough (yeah, I'll let that one go about as soon as I forget about Prop 8 passing), now comes dishy word from the Down Under set of Australia, the epic Aussie tale from usually genius director Baz Luhrmann. Have any idea what it's about? If you guessed something to do with Nicole's immovable feast of a forehead, you'd be darling and correct.
Incomparable Australia sources who worked on both production and postproduction for the flick insist exclusively to the Awful Truth that Ms. Kidman's forehead was "a big concern." How much so? "Throughout the entire production," sassed one of our top level Australia sources, "everyone on set was really worried about [Kidman] not being able to make facial expressions." Apparently, not many of those Nicole-powered facial tics came to be, as computer generated effects were ultimately required. Don't you just hate it when that happens?
"New technology," we're assured by our computer-savvy insiders, was utilized in postproduction, "to give her face a bit more…life. That's how bad it got." Jeez, Nic, is this the result from Sunday Rose being such a damn well-behaved baby? I mean, since she never cries, as you have so proudly stated, do you have no practice making frown or fret lines any more? Oh, and we do hear that kid of yours was practically immaculately conceived, more on that Kidman mysteriousness after the holidays, promise.
Rob Pattinson: Toasted
Sexy Mr. P, who smells great au natural (trust us on this one), lives to not overly shower or coif, mess with his honeys' hair, get crazy with them and belt a few back before his important scenes. This is utterly our kind of matinee idol. If Robbie just keeps those belts belts—not whole bottles—and the craziness with his chicks fun crazy, this dude's gonna be the new Brad P. in secs.
I mean, remember when Brad, pre derma-sanded skin and all (so hot!), used to live not to bathe too much, too, before he met Mother Earth reincarnated, Angelina Jolie? Or is that simply what happens when one starts to breed, you clean yourself more? Man, do we ever need a humpy whiskered and whiff-worthy studmuffin in town, or what? Heaven knows man-sissy Zac Efron's not fillin' that boy bill anytime soon. Trust.
Obviously, the political descent of this blondie couple's hero, John McCain, has only caused Heidi and Spencer to act out like headline-hungry ninnies even more. They must feel that loud Republican voices are even more necessary right now, so they (deftly) go and pull a Mariah Carey and pretend to have a wedding they don't want anybody to notice. Quite the opposite is the reality. Also gives the duo a whole new MTV shelf life—and beyond. Which was the whole point. They really should start up a variety show with Elisabeth Hasselbeck to go up against Rosie's new job.
Kendra Wilkinson: Buttery
We just love how much fun Kendra's having with the holidays. She totally derails Hef's plan for her post-GND swinging bachelorette TV romps by getting engaged to Hank Baskett (which was, we promise, much more Hank's idea than Kendra's, to be quite fair, an emotion we're not always too high on). "She's just totally loving all of this," squealed a close Kendra chum. "She's completely oblivious to everything else around her." Which, of course, is the precise reason she's great TV.
Holly, as much as I personally adore her (she's far more of a flirt than Kendra, absolutely, she even came on to me once!), comes off as more designing. Indeed, the folks at Playboy who work with H bitch to me that even though they kinda like hanging with Ms. Madison, she's not nearly as goofy or half as approachable as is Kendra. Oh, and as far as that showdown of whether or not Hef will be able to indeed keep the Mansion as the location for Kendra's wedding, I say let's make sure the wedding even happens first, catch my gonzo-gal drift?
Brangelina: Burnt to a Crisp
Brad and Angelina are actually making TomKat, Inc., look like a downright Mom 'n' Pop organization. Which is saying a huge amount. If these two babes adopt or buy or star in one more production—whether human or not—I'm going to stop salivating over yummy Brad—a virtually unimaginable thought a mere year ago. Getting close to jumping on the anti-Brad bus, anyway, as Mr. P., saint-whipped like he is, is becoming entirely forgettable. He really needs to grow some, already. Or at least borrow his wife's.
Oh, and if Brad tells one more chum of his how damn good the sex is with Angelina, we're really going to have to resort to calling him the next Will Smith. Truly, if somebody keeps going on and on that much about how great the nooky is with the woman at home, something's not right. Like the truth. Sorry, all you Brangie fanzoids, but this is a known fact thru the ages of celebrated H'wood figures: A tight mouth is happier than a loose one, almost always.
Britney: Cooked in a Bag
This new, father-figured, court-sanctioned, properly worked-out Britney is for the free-range birds, as far as we're concerned. Where's the rebel chick with the hideous hair, bitch? We dunno. This tight, in-control, well-behaved babe just reminds us of Lynne Spears controlling the show all through Britney's formative years, and we all know Brit's not half done rebelling against her monster mother for that, not by a long head-shaved shot. The more beautiful, becoming Brit lies somewhere in between, of that we're certain. And at least she's swearing like a Louisiana truck driver at home (even with the kids round, sometimes), we're told by the closet of B.S. hangers-on, so at least there's some salty hope, right?
Michelle Obama: Dressed
Badly, too. And that's what we love about the broad! Bad taste = she bought it herself. No Hollywood stylists for this politically poised hon; she knows the real-woman score. Thank heavens a message will soon be sent from the White House that it's not up for sale. What a revolutionary thought!
Jake Gyllenhaal: Dark Meat
Man, Jakey, this homespun thing—whatever it is—you're parading around with Reese Witherspoon is so not you. We all know you're a badder boy than even pretend-virginal Reese likes to go with; why don't you start showing your more rebel side a bit more often? 'Cause if People is to be believed, the two of you stroll and drink more coffee than Amy Winehouse smokes crack. And a relationship, surely, cannot survive on vanilla lattes alone.
Madonna: One Mother-Effin' Tired Old Bird
True, Ms. Ciccone from Detroit has survived it all—with commendable savvy. Just once, would love to see that tough-ass babe slink into our message boards and tell all those scaredy cats who hide behind dumb anonymous names where to stick it—which would no doubt be deep inside sell-out Christopher Ciccone's fat ass, but whatever. The point is Queen Madge is losing her skill at shoving it to the world with sassy, enviable aplomb. Ditching her family with a member of somebody else's is not exactly proud, in-your-face Madonna style. It's more like wimpy John McCain did it—telling the world one thing (your marriage is solid), while something else dark and swarthy lurks, panting and waiting, in a Central Park West high-rise.
Madonna, you're not an elected official (well, actually, guess you kinda are), this shame-based lying is so not you, and Bill Clinton does it far better, anyway. We miss the out-and-proud Madonna of old who made no apologies instead of lame press releases that everything's fine at the ol' English manor. We just hope this isn't the new, unimproved Madonna, darling. Tell us it ain't.
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