You may think that since the pictures below are of Kirsten Dunst giving money to a homeless man in a wheelchair, surely I could set aside the seething contempt I have for her, at least for one post. But you'd be wrong, since the cheap bitch gives the man a dollar. One dollar. I tip the inbred at Starbucks more than that and all he does is say, "my bad, you wanted soy?" Just for the record, Kirsten's asking price is 6 million a film and she makes 3 movies a year on average. She's clearly not throwing money away on fancy makeup and her outfit here from the Fashion Bug couldn't have cost more than twenty dollars, but it seems there's still not enough wiggle room in the budget to spare a five for the hungry paraplegic. God I hate her. Seriously, she's disgusting. If I had to choose between the best sex of my life with Kirsten Dunst or jacking off in front of my parents ... lets just say I hope that never comes up.

When I go to the grade schools and speak to the young people of today, I'm often asked, "how do you do it," "what's your secret," and "how do you score all the hot chicks?" To which I reply, "C'mon you guys, leave me alone." Because I'm the janitor.

And while that has nothing to do with Bono being up for the Nobel Peace Prize, seriously, what am I supposed to say about Bono and the Nobel Peace Prize. The idea is clearly retarded. A billionaire holding a press conference to talk about poor countries not paying back money they owe hardly seems like the kind of dirty work you should have to do to win the Nobel Prize. Based on a bunch of stuff I made up, he wouldn't be nearly so magnanimous if it was his money not getting paid back. All I know is, if Bono does win the Nobel Peace Prize, I'm totally giving mine back as a protest. But not the coupon book that came with it. (suck on that, Sweden!)

To the best of my knowledge I'm still banned from the Santa Barbara Zoo because I fed a chipwich to a llama and it died. My defense of, "What am I, a vet? Llamas can't eat chipwiches?" seemed to fall on deaf ears. As did my pointing out that, unless this was some sort of magical llama, this thing was clearly several hundred years old and it was only coincidence that it died while we were sharing a chipwich.

I don't know why I thought this was gonna be a good intro and I really don't remember where I was going with this, but I'm almost positive it was brilliant. And since I refuse to live in the past, here's something about Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen moving out of thier billion dollar Manhattan penthouse, because the submitters seem to think I toss and turn all night unless I know the Olsens are okay.

I think it's safe to say that Olivia Wilde from the OC is a beautiful girl, even first thing in the morning when she's still asleep next to me, smiling contently with that satisfied glow, so why the hell would they do this to her hair. She looks like she got hit by lightning. And whatever sick fuck thought that was hot probably thought that the prisoner throwing his cum on Agent Starling was a sweet ice breaker too. By the way, her real last name is Cockburn.

*heh-heh, huh-huh, huh-huh*

Thanks to Suzie for sending in these horrifying images of Britney Spears and adding five minutes to my masturbating tonight. And thanks to Britney too. It's nice to see you smoking and drinking in front of your core audience of 12 year old girls. Maybe later you can go to Disneyland and rip off Mickey's head. Or, you know what, fuck it, just go ahead and slaughter a unicorn right there on the deck. Dance in it's blood. Those kids are gonna cry themselves to sleep tonight anyway, why not just take thier innocence once and for all.

And, nobody asked, but these were taken at the Ritz-Carlton in Marina del Rey, where I used to work until they fired me for being too handsome. I'm not really sure why she would be hanging out there, but I don't have a good explanation for why she put on two hundred pounds either.

The beautiful and talented people who read this page started sending in the 'Nicole Richie gets engaged' story over the weekend, but I haven't written anything yet because I'm completely out of ideas on how to insult this girl. What the hell am I supposed to say that would be more embarrassing than the stuff she already does. Even calling her a 'dumb drunken whore' seems under whelming, like drawing a frowny face on the Nazi flag. If you would have told me three years ago that we'd still be shackled with this idiot today, I would have punched you in the nuts and then tattled on you for being mean to me. But there she is. In my Inbox. So, you know what, to hell with it. If this guy is fired up about having sex with Cha-Ka for the rest of his life, God bless 'em.

The Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue came out this week, which is as good a reason as any to dredge up the fact that supermodel Marisa Miller, who this year makes her fourth straight appearance in SI, began her career as a nude model for magazines like Perfect 10. Sadly - and I'm not proud of this - I sometimes use that against her when we quarrel. I know its not cool, but, dammit Marisa, since when does 'medium' mean 'medium rare'! COOK IT AGAIN SLUT!

(if the 'nude model' thing wasn't clear, and if you can't tell by these thumbnails, these pictures are NSFW).

As part of their tribute to Black History Month, Starz is running Catwoman, which is a great choice cause that movie really gets to the heart of the black experience. They should probably only air it for the first two weeks of Black History Month since she's only half black but I'm willing to overlook that because the film is that damn good. The movies only flaw is that no one ever seems to figure out that Halle Berry is Catwoman. She's the only sister in the whole damn town, but no one ever guesses that the hottie secretary who was all lips, hips and ass is also the hottie superhero who was all lips, hips and ass. Do people in that town see Halle walk away and think, "hey, there's our only black girl," and then Catwoman would show up, "oh, I guess I was wrong." Especially since that mask only covered like 5 percent of her face. Sometimes I wear sunglasses and a hat, yet my friends still seem to recognize me. They don't all faint and scream and point and say "it was you all along" when I take them off.