All Bad Things Must Come to an End

Here we are at the finish of yet another celeb-carousing year of unintentional entertainment—it's so exciting! The marvelous missteps. The murderous mouthings-off. The missing muffs. I swear, it's been beyond fun.

That's why—here we go again!—it's time for our annual year-end awards, which, if you'll recall, I name after whoever's been most infamous in months past. And no, I'm not calling our politically incorrect recipients for 2006 the Shaved Bushes, though perhaps I should.

Instead, in honor of the man whose trap has been a veritable gossip-column fodder factory, I'm naming the Awful Truth's most naughty 'n' noteworthy (certainly including gonzo imbiber-blabberer Mel G.) list for 2006…the Sugar Tits Awards!

On that hideously offensive level, I say let's stoop even lower. In order of potty mouth par excellence, here—like the 12 days of demon doings—are the year's most asinine celebrity sayings 'n' such, so far.

But wait! Of course, there's a hitch. Part one of my awards (peeps ranking 12 through 7) will appear below. Part two, representing the rest o’ the mouthy crew, will appear next week, on Dec. 28. Sorry to be a pain, but hey, I like using the ol’ e-whip once 'n' awhile, because, ultimately, doesn't that make it all feel so good once you have the whole package before you? Is this getting too weird of an analogy? Yep. So, read on, already:

 

The Meltdown: On the very day Brit split from Kevin, Denise Richards hurled a laptop off a balcony in Canada (where she was filming a movie). I wonder which exclusive finishing school she learned such efficient feminine communication skills—can I sign up? Was this Denise-doll's way of mourning the end of the Spears-Federlines? Nah, seems the gal who knows all about messy divorces herself, thanks to wandering hub-unit Charlie Sheen, was pissed off at paps below who were taunting her. The nerve of those bloodthirsty meanies! (And just keep in mind, you judging Awful-ites—who are now saying, in unison, I imagine, that some of those paps are, indeed, terribly bloody in their star stalking—you, my dear public, lap up the results with equal zeal. I see it in line at Gelson's every damn day.)

Side Effects: The portable computer Denise launched hit an elderly woman below, who suffered minor injuries, and the paps prolly got exactly the money shot they wanted.

Future Effects: Denise has since apologized for chucking the expensive equipment. In 2007, the mere image of Denise will continue to strike fear in the hearts of little old ladies and laptops everywhere.

The Meltdown: After Anna gave birth to a baby girl in the Bahamas with lawyer and supposed daddy Howard K. Stern by her side, Smith's son, Daniel, suddenly died. Anna mourned her boy's death, yet held a bizarre commitment ceremony to Howard days later. Pics from said ceremony show her lookin' like a hot mess and a half.

Side Effects: Toxicology reports stated Daniel died from a lethal combo of drugs, including methadone. Meanwhile, Anna's former beau, Larry Birkhead, called bulls--t and slapped Anna's supple ass with a lawsuit claiming he's the real dad of Smith's other offspring, by the paternal by, and he demanded paternity and drug tests for little Dannielynn.

Future Effects: Courts denied Anna's requests for delaying the Birkhead case, so the legal showdown will go down (maybe—after all, look how long it took for the courts to rule, and rerule, in the case of Smith's first, geriatric hubby) in early 2007. Stay tuned, if you're not bored already, for the tacky-butt train wreck of it all and to see if Anna can get her bod down to fightin' form before the court date. Aren't calories—whether it be too many or too few—what it's ultimately all about, anyway?

The Meltdown: Little do folks know, but the real dirt started flying during Tori's first marriage, to nice dude Charlie Shanian, whom Tore-babe dumped via the fam therapist. (Wasn't that adorable?) Mom-unit Candy—and far less so, Pops Aaron—had a falling out over the limit of the seemingly endless overpriced ceremony bills. Apparently, Candy had enough with all of what Tore-hon wanted to charge up, there was a fight and things have never been the same since. Far wiser gossips, 'course, realize all this tumult began long before Tori ever got hitched. Isn't it just too wonderful to know that even the rich-as-sin set can have their dysfunctional family blowups, as well?

Only difference being, I declare, Candy and Tori appear they won't ever be able to recover from theirs—seems pretty clear.

Oh, other essential deets would include Tori marrying, superquick, the also freshly divorced Dean McDermott, an actor with K-Fed-type balls (Tori was preggers in mere secs), and the 90210 babe making myriad public statements claiming she's impoverished, essentially, and has been forced to sell her personal belongings.

Side Effects: Garage sales were never so delicious.

Future Effects: Tori's turning herself into a virtual pissy gold mine of potential miniseries, boutique movie, jewelry line or network TV deal (or all of the aforementioned), and she expects nothing less.

 

The Meltdowns: Both very nice dudes (I'm ashamed to admit, as this list is mostly for dawg-butt creepazoids...nevertheless) were very public, very headlines grabbin' about their rehab stints—which, I'm sorry, is a 12-step no-no. Do not, under any circumstances whatsoever, make a People mag spread outta your cleanup activities, which is precisely what Urban (on Oct. 19) and Williams (on Aug. 9) did this year.

I mean, ultimately, how Lindsay Lohan can you get?

Ironically, even though Keith 'n' Robin seem a tad selfish in their sober grandstanding, both rehab stints, I happen to know, were undertaken by both stars to appease ones they love. Not exactly a solid way to embark on such a no-frills drill, but their hearts were in the right places, I s'pose.

Side Effects: Not drinking or drugging yourself to death appears to be—maybe, just maybe—an option!

Future Effects: Celebrity rehab has become even more disgustingly magazine-spread chic—that is, absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with reality. Teams of stupid, drunken civilian lemmings will soon find themselves embarking on similar paths, albeit without publicists, assistants, life coaches and personal trainers.

The Meltdowns: One was in a comedy club on the Sunset Strip, the other on her nicey morning TV show set, and both unplanned utterings were equally offensive, in my opinion. First, Richards, a sort of aimless figure ever since his enormous Seinfeld success petered out, lost it when some hecklers at the Laugh Factory pissed off the homely star, who was performing.

The racial epithets M.R. subsequently let loose musta been brewing for aeons, 'cause, babe-friends, they were fierce, nonstop and relentless. You auditioning for a Mel Gibson movie, Mr. R.? Regardless, shame on you, and you, too, perky girlfriend...

Kelly R., the most astute antigay cream puff since Mel G. arranged for the horrendous killings of certain fruits in his flicks (for historical accuracy, of course). Look, Ripa, if you expect anybody to believe dissing guest Clay Aiken, and where his hand may or may not have been, is anything but unacceptable, Rosa Parks wasn't a freedom fighter.

The Meltdown: Star J.R.'s cushy contract as a cohost on The View wasn't renewed after nine seasons, just days before View producers announced Rosie O'Donnell would join the wildly popular girlie table-tawk show. ABC was reportedly unhappy with Starzilla's over-the-top wedding freeloading and taking gratis goods in exchange for on-air mentions. Star made headlines and pissed off Barbara Walters when she revealed she'd essentially been fired—so claimed S.J.R.

Side Effects: Al Reynolds' bride went on Larry King to defend herself but refused to comment on why ABC had canned her. She was immediately yanked from the ABC Website and from the credits of her former show. The outspoken fashion freak's next TV stint? A weeklong gig hosting HGTV's House Hunters. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. (Yikes, is that karma calling for me to pen the gossip column for Kevin Federline's new Website, wifebeatersrant.com, I wonder?)

Future Effects: Miss Thang got served a whopping slice of humble pie after she realized peeps weren't knocking on her door with fab offers. After doing nothing noteworthy for a while, Star's got herself a new job just in time for the new year: guest host on a radio show, quelle horreur. Of course, Oprah's pitching in now, so who the ef knows. Still, getting knocked off the boob tube and relegated to radio waves is a definite downgrade, as anyone in this brutal biz knows (only Adam Carolla and Gayle King would dare disagree). "I admit sometimes I have enjoyed the celebrity more than I should have," Star-hon told Extra. "I am rejoicing in learning from my mistakes and missteps and trips and falls."

And we rejoice in watching every minute, you conniving big-mouth!