Now you, too, can smell like Christina Aguilera, this time without the help of gender-reassignment hormones! The new ad promises:

Christina Aguilera INSPIRE brings a little of her self-assured confidence and sexiness to every woman’s life.  The fragrance will remind you not to drift along with the crowd, but will inspire you to stand up for what you believe in and strive for your dreams.  The fragrance celebrates being a woman, full of feminity and fun.  Be inspired, be sexy and be exactly what you want to be.

Especially if what you want to be is a sluttier transvestite version of Pennywise the Dancing Clown from Stephen King’s “It.” Beep beep, Richie!

“Inspiring” little girls everywhere with a Ellen Von Unwerth shoot July 2005:

This picture of Christina Aguilera naked is from an old David LaChapelle photoshoot in 2004, but it’s all over the internet today, so naturally I’ll be hopping on the bandwagon. If all the cool kids are doing it, then so am I. Just like crystal meth and circle jerks. I didn’t get where I am today without selling out my sense of moral decency and individuality, you know! I think the kids today call that “high school.”

Christina Aguilera took a little time off from drunken club-whoring to do her part for the Rock the Vote Campaign, which translated to wrapping her infant son in an American flag and cooing “America the Beautiful” to him. Whatever. This little ruse changes nothing for me. You can bet your sweet bippy that the only lullaby I’m going to be singing to some baby wrapped in an American flag is Pink Floyd’s “Welcome to the Machine.” Possibly The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” if I have time. And then I’ll hold the baby up and yell, “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss, baby! Democracy is dead! Viva la revolución!” just like I did when I ambushed the stage at my niece’s christening last week. Hopefully the Rock the Vote demographic will be a little more receptive than those folks inside the church were. Fucking Bolsheviks!

Angelina Jolie in Vanity Fair because she’s not a hideous tranny monster:

Natural beauty Christina Aguilera apparently put on quite a skank show at LAX nightclub last weekend. The Daily Mail says

[Aguilera] and her [female] companion put on a sexy show by dancing close to each other. 26-year-old Christina even grabbed her friend’s head and rubbed her face into her breast as their racy dancing continued.

Some new moms join their local chapter of Stroller Strides; some join little play groups that meet for story time at the library; some get wasted and shove their girlfriends’ faces in their tits like college freshmen whose daddies didn’t show them enough attention growing up. Those are the kind of mommies that have martinis for breakfast and fuck their kids’ soccer coaches and demand full custody for extra child support paychecks. Or, as I like to call them, “the cool moms” at whose houses the Stroller Stride kids are going to want to spend the night in fifteen years.

Two years ago, I dressed up as Mystique from X-Men for Halloween. It was the most kick-ass costume ever. I had a bright red wig, yellow contacts, and a blue swimsuit I hand-decorated with blue scales. It took me two and a half hours and almost four bottles of body paint to get ready. Even then, I only had on half as much makeup as Christina Aguilera in the above picture. If Homer Simpson’s makeup gun ever had a “seek and destroy” setting, you’re fucking looking at it right here.

Editor’s note: Ever wondered what a post-op tranny’s tits might look like after a grease fire? Wonder no more!!

More of Frankentits at Luxor’s LAX Nightclub Friday night:

Daddy Spears is definitely earning his $10,000 the hard way — from regularly checking Britney’s undercarriage for panties to dutifully trailing along whenever she ventures out of her house. Nine MSN says

The court appointed guardian/doting dad was on the ball at Christina Aguilera’s birthday party this weekend. When he spotted a video camera filming Britney, he quickly whisked away the glasses of alcohol all around her.

The clip of him whisking away the plates of chocolate cake from her was way funnier, but the National Wildlife Service is using that footage as filler in their documentary “When Hippos Attack.” Available July 2008!

New mommy Christina Aguilera celebrated baby Max’s 112 day-old birthday by getting so wasted at the Crown Bar in Hollywood that husband Jordan Bratman had to hold her up on the way out. Reminds me a lot of my folks when I was a little girl. Of course, it was usually me holding momma up and picking the chunks of puke out of her hair instead of daddy, mostly because I didn’t have a dad and we didn’t find out who my real father was until he was paroled and the circus came back to town. So, really, I guess it’s nothing like my childhood. Way to bring me down. Jerks.

Can you figure out what’s wrong with this picture of Christina Aguilera? I’ll give you two guesses. Hint: it rhymes with “moobs.” Still nothing? Look again:

My superior logic tells me these are either implants encased in scar tissue or a pair of hydrocelphalic twin stowaways on the S.S. Frankentits. Bon voyage, mateys!

The mighty vessel docked at Club Villa on Sunday:

There is something just wrong about seeing “Drrty” singer Christina Aguilera cuddling an infant. It’s like seeing a snake holding hands with a field mouse or Paris Hilton cradling a Bible. It’s just unnatural. Perverse, even. With the big fake tits and platinum blonde hair, Christina looks like she should be standing in for Stormy Daniels in “Cockamamie 4,” not powdering a newborn baby’s bottom. In fact, the only time a chick that skanky looking should even be uttering the word “baby” is if it’s succeeded by “mmm… give it to me, yeah” right before she takes a big load in the face.

Lots of celebrities gave birth over the weekend, including actress Courtney Thorne-Smith and “In Living Color’s” David Allen Grier’s wife. Who and who? Exactly. Now, for the Hollywood pregnancies you were actually aware of:

First up — Nicole Richie. People magazine says

Nicole Richie and her rocker boyfriend Joel Madden are the parents of a daughter. Harlow Winter Kate Madden was born Friday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center and weighed 6 lbs. 7 oz.

Christina Aguilera also pooped¹ one out over the weekend. People magazine says

Christina Aguilera and Jordan Bratman welcomed a baby boy on Saturday at 10:05 p.m. Max Liron Bratman [weighed] 6 lbs., 2 oz. and 20.5 inches [and] arrived late on Saturday night in L.A.

I’d bet that Max is gonna grow up to be a real looker, what with Dad’s imaginary chin and Mommy’s spackle-and-pancake complexion. He’d probably have just as much luck in the gene department with Amanda Lepore and Wimpy from Popeye for parents. On the plus side, ought to have a built-in role as a young Boy George in E!’s made for TV movie “Karma Chameleon:The Many Colors of George Alan O’Dowd.”

¹_{Not a typo. Have you seen the birthing process? Yikes.}

Christina and husband five days before the birth:

Christina Aguilera is pregnant! Shocking, I know. All this time you thought she had some kind of abdominal distension from huge undescended testicles. People Magazine reports

Christina Aguilera has now formally confirmed the already widely-reported observation that she is expecting a baby. In an interview with Glamour magazine, the 26-year-old singer-songwriter says that she will “enter into mommyhood” next year.

You know, I’m going to take this whole celebrity “not acknowledging the obvious” and really run with it. Like, walk into a room with the crotch of my pants soaked and leaving a little liquid trail and then act like nothing’s amiss. Just totally indifferent, maybe even do a cartwheel or something, and then be like, “what?” And when someone finally says, “Uh, Abby… I think you pissed your pants,” I’ll just give them a cold stare and “Maybe you just pissed your pants. Did you ever think of that?” Then I’ll turn up the television really loud and pretend I can’t hear them. I plan on debuting my new celebrity approach to uncomfortable questions at the hearing tomorrow. When the judge asks how do I plead, I’ll just soak my pants and pretend I’m watching television. Let’s see you find your way around that, Duval County Circuit Court! Bam! Christina Aguilera and Jennifer Lopez aren’t the only masters of strategy around here, you know.

So the Grammy Awards were last night. I took minute-by-minute notes as show progressed so that those of you who didn’t catch it could enjoy the full Grammys experience. Oh, and I put up a shot of Jennifer Aniston topless, just because.

7:58 p.m. — Two minutes ’till showtime. Two bottles of liquor, a microwave burrito, and half a pack of cigarettes just within reach for maximum viewing pleasure.

8:00 p.m. — The show opens with Sting and The Police performing their hit song “Roxanne.” I play that fun drinking game where one of you drinks whenever Sting sings “Put on the red light” and the other person drinks whenever he sings “Roxanne.” But there was just me, so I had a lot of drinking to do. Still fun.

8:05 p.m. — One bottle of Jager, one burrito, eight smokes left.

8:30 p.m. — The phone rings. An ex-boyfriend wants to “come over and talk.” Probably without his pants. I say no, I’m doing important work right now. He argues. During this phone call somebody won something, possibly the Dixie Chicks, who won approximately 7,426 Grammys last night.

8:45 p.m — Justin Timberlake looks gay while singing one of his lame-ass songs. I mean really gay. I feed the burrito to the dog because I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.

9:12 p.m. — Mary J. Blige wins “Best R & B Song.”

9:30 p.m. — Something weird is in my belly button. It has a smell. I do a couple of shots of Jager.

10:15 p.m. — Somebody else wins something, but the dog has diarrhea courtesy of the beef burrito, so I’m too busy cleaning it up to notice.

10:28 p.m. — I balance my cigarette on the arm of the couch to better inspect my belly button.

10:31 p.m. — Carrie Underwood wins “Best New Artist” and the Dixie Chicks win something else, probably “Most Useless Who-Gives-a-Shit Band.”

10:37 p.m. — I notice the couch is smoldering.

10:38 p.m. — Note to self: Jager does NOT put out a fire.

10:40 p.m.– The smoke alarm goes off.

10:48 p.m. — The dog has more diarrhea. Justin Timberlake wins “Best Dance Recording.” The two are not related. Or are they?

10:52 p.m. — I throw up.

11: 12 p.m. — I throw up again.

3:47 a.m. — I wake up. It seems that the Grammys are over. The couch is completely charred on one side, there’s puke in my hair, and the whole room smells like ass. Dog ass. I wish I still had my burrito.

And there you have it. It’s like you were there, wasn’t it? For the complete list of the night’s winners, click here.

All of the fug after the jump

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