Baboon/drag queen hybrid Christina Aguilera launched her new fragrance “Inspire” at the Herald Square Macy’s in New York yesterday. As always, her tits were front and center. Well, not so much center, exactly. Maybe front and “decidedly askew.” Front and “one at five; one at nine.” Front and “you need to fucking sue your plastic surgeon already because you could piece together chunks of RuPaul blindfolded using nothing but silly putty and a caulking gun and it’d still look more like a woman than you ever will, you hideous silicone freak of nature.” Ah, semantics, shemantics!

Taylor Hicks. Ruben Studdard. Fantasia Barrino. All American Idol winners, and all has-beens. So why would Kellie Pickler, who was in sixth place when she got booted off American Idol, and dumber than a pile of rocks, still be showing up in the news? Well, I think it might have something to do with two things, one rhymes with wand, the other with sits. Those two things, my dear friends, cover a multitude of sins. I think it says so in the Bible.
Exhibit B, from Kellie’s myspace page.

Wait, stop me if you’ve heard this one — Lindsay Lohan was … uh, yeah, no bra. Right. I figured you had. You probably have the internet at home or something. Well, for the record, those are some of the worst looking fake tits I’ve ever seen. God damn. From that angle, it looks like she’s got Squiward Tentacles in a headlock. “Oblong” should never be an adjective you use to describe your bosom. Same goes for “jello-like consistency” and “staring at the floor.” It’s just wrong.

Shopping at Samy’s Camera on Fairfax Blvd yesterday:

I can’t imagine why “actress” Tori Spelling would admit to having had a boob job earlier this year. With a bust line that natural, you never would have never in a million years guessed that she’d undergone surgery. That’s sunset-on-the-Riviera kind of cleavage. Provided the sun were melting and the Riviera were made of silly putty and it was the mammary version of Kristallnacht, I mean. Perfection, thy name is Tori!

It’s summer in Beverly Hills in these pictures, despite Jennifer Aniston’s nipples suggesting it’s early winter in the Yukon. Just another good reason not to gauge the weather by looking at Jennifer Aniston’s boobs. You’d wear a parka and ski hat every goddamn day if you went by her tits alone. For a real idea of the weather outside, look to Cisco Adler’s ball sac. It’s second only to the Farmer’s Almanac and Dopplar radar in terms of meteorological accuracy!

Here’s singer/musician James Blunt frolicking near his home in Ibiza with two hot chicks playing “Where’s the Nipple?” and “Doggy Style, but with Vaginas!“¹ In case you didn’t know, Blunt was also a Captain in the British Army — the first armored reconnaissance officer to enter the Kosovar capital during the 1999 NATO deployment. He also captained the Household Cavalry Alpine Ski Team and was the champion skier of the entire Royal Armoured Corps. So while you’re busy changing the toner and stapling together your TPS reports, James Blunt is busy being a military hero/champion skier batting away quality kitty on his boat in the middle of the Med. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if James Blunt were any better than you, you’d be dead. On the plus side, at least your last named doesn’t rhyme with “cunt,” so you got that going for you. Dream big, loser!

¹_{Which, incidentally, make great parlour games if you’ve already exhausted The Minister’s Cat and Lookabout}

The last time I had a garden hose raining water down on my supple breasts like Rosario Dawson here, it was a Tuesday, and I was passed out in the front yard while my mom used it to hose all the vomit off of me. I suppose this version is a little bit sexier.

Amy Winehouse reportedly flashed her tits at husband Blake Fielder-Civil while visiting him in jail yesterday. According to Digital Spy

The singer pulled down her top and pushed her breasts up against the glass partition separating her from Fielder-Civil. A prison visitor said: “It was not a pleasant sight. Amy seemed completely out of it.”

I’d say “not a pleasant sight” is a bit of an understatement. It’d be looking at two scabby fried eggs you found on the ground and then squashed and slid around on a dirty window. And the scabby fried eggs are attached to the alien from Predator’s head and the alien is making the tongue-between-the-fingers sign for cunnilingus and snarling at you through the partition. I’ve had nightmares that weren’t that hideous. I’m pretty sure hara-kiri is the only respectable choice for your penis once you’ve seen something like that.