Oys Will Be Oys

Paris Hilton's unfortunate outbursts have caused quite the tongue-wagging among Awful Truth readers, while naughty lads Nick Lachey, Ryan Phillippe, K-Whoever and Jay-Z give us girls plenty o' party pissiness to prattle on about...

Before we get to the mush of today’s sappy occasion—or some par-tick glitzy Grammys to-doing—let’s check in on something important and far less celebratory, shall we?

Not that I want to. It’s just that I need to.

I've received buttloads of reader emails regarding one hideously potty-mouthed Paris Hilton. The grainy videos leaked recently all over the Internet have been a hot topic, fer sure, and here's a very small sample of what you all had to say:

From Vivicca:
Why haven't you covered the bigotry of Paris Hilton? You've done Mr. Washington's story over and over and over, yet there's been nothing about this equal opportunity. Why?

From Akilah:
Interesting that you've devoted many inches of your column to the Isaiah Washington debacle but none to Paris Hilton's venom. Care to explain?

From Liz Guarino:
Paris has been caught on tape making slurs against African Americans, Asians, homosexuals and the list goes on. How can you call out Mr. Washington with such fervor but fail to mention Ms. Hilton? It is hypocrisy at its finest.

Dear Riled Readers:
Here at Awful, we've seen the unearthed footage, and we have been rather dismayed by Paris' home videos ourselves. And I've been thinking seriously about it all while watching the mail build considerably for many days. In the past, at Esquire and Premiere magazines, in addition to the myriad TV associations I've had over the years, I've most always taken pains to be supportive of my home-base colleagues.

But in this case, as a gay man and a super-duper lover of all those outside the great white way (i.e., minorities in all walks of life), I can't abide Paris' disdain for those less privileged and WASP-waisted than she. Ms. P., care to take over here and say what a lot of us would like to hear?

I leave the sitch in your hands to do the right thing.

Now, on to the Hallmark holiday we all live to love ‘n’ loathe, otherwise known as Romeo Resentment Day, or what’s more commonly referred to as Valentine’s Day. 

For sex-ay singles out there, it’s a way harsh reminder that you’re all by your lonesome. And for those lucky lovebirds in rockin’ relationships, it’s a day when you’re supposed to bend over backward for that special someone. (J.P., are you online? Will you be mine? I promise not to fart in bed tonight, if you do...) 

But if you’re bummed out that your plans include quality time with the couch and eating chocolates you bought yourself, don’t feel bad. Some of your favest celebs don’t have posh plans for today, either.  

‘Cause, even though John Mayer and Jessica Simpson hit the Sony/BMG party, post Grammys, and canoodled for the cameras, John said he’s not doing squat today.

“I don’t have any Valentine’s Day plans,” he told me at the Clive Davis pre-Grammy get-down Saturday night. You just being coy, John? Or are you not the big romantic we all thought you were?

Now, Jess didn’t attend said soiree, but the other Simpson sis, Ashlee, certainly did, and she was lookin’ fabber than evuh in a royal-blue La Perla number. “I’m hanging out with my girlfriends,” Ash told me of her V-Day plans. “We’re all going to get dressed up and go on a date.”  

Fun, I s’pose, but no couple carousing with Pete Wentz?

I figured I could at least count on Beyoncé to have some amorous affairs scheduled with Jay-Z. Wrong again. 

“I’m gonna be working on Valentine’s Day,” she fessed at the Sony/BMG bash. “But the day after, I’m gonna relax and eat and do nothing.”  

B. also said she hadn’t thought about what to get Jay-Z for a gift. As for what she’s hopin’ to receive? “A day off.” 

Jeez, where is the amour-dripping boudoir mayhem, you boring-ass people?

Saturday peeyem, the bros ‘n’ ho’s were literally lined up on the Sunset Strip to get into the mucho talked about post-Grammy XM Satellite Radio soiree that Queen Latifah hosted at Social for pal Ludacris. The to-do top dawg and big winner of the night weighed in with his very own predictions for this year's T-town comebacks. I asked the Grammy-winning rapper my totally dork-butt Barbara Walters-esque question of the evenin’: Who stands a better chance of a comeback this year—Britney or Whitney? “That’s a good question!” said Luda, pondering my quizzical query. “Whitney!” he finally replied.  

Good to know, I guess, but, like, what took so long?

Tyrese echoed similar sentiments when I posed the same Q to him at the Clive Davis fete the night before. “Whitney, because you can’t deny the soul,” he said. “I think outside of that, the kind of things Britney’s got going on are getting her in a little trouble. They’re very tedious things.” 

Sorry, Britters. Can you say you’re surprised? I mean, not even the Whit-woman hit the drive-through greased-up life like you did, after all.

On things oily, natch, Kevin Federline rolled up to the XM bash with just his goon-guard—and no date. Seems being the ex-Mr. Spears doesn’t carry much clout with Hell-Ay fire marshals...Kevin had to wait in line with the rest o' us to get into the packed party. Poor K-Fed. But is it bad to say he actually looked kinda hot?  

(Pretend I didn’t say that. Promise I’ll deny it, too.)

Upstairs in the VIP section and certifiably hot was private pair Nick Lachey and Vanessa Minnillo, who opted to skip the red carpet patrol. The perky-nipple couple seemed semi-interested in one another, although 'Ness-babe turned a curious shade of green when I approached Nick to say what a huge fan I was (I like the toothier studs, what can I say?).Oops! Sudden frost in the air! Quelle surprise, as we’ve all heard that V.M.’s the jealous type. Well, at least Nick-doll was über-gracious (though N.L. declined to give me a declarative statement on the status of himself and that shrew he’s seeing)...and let me just say, Mistuh L. was lookin' like a hunky piece of mattress meat, if there ever was one...

Boozy, less boy-crazy, was the air pungent with salty margarita whiffs and flowing libations for guests like Barry Bonds, Quentin Tarantino, Busta Rhymes and a semi-scruffy Ryan Phillippe. Oh, and is it bitchy of moi to add—I mean, just ‘tween us gossies—that Ryan’s not lookin’ so hubba-hubba? 

Now, come on. If Whitney friggin’ Houston can get it together for Grammys weekend (which she did, overly wigish coif notwithstanding), Ry-doll, can’t you get over your hang-dawg-no-Reese-no-more-sourpuss thang? Have you even tried? 

I mean, Bobby Brown has. ‘Course, that noble effort got him no further than a friend’s couch in Studio City, but you get the idea, I’m sure.