Singer Hillary Duff stars as a Russian pop star who likes dropping poisonous arthropods in her pants while John Cusack pats himself down with a hanky in a new movie entitled “War, Inc.” Now, as far as sexy venomous critters go, I suppose the scorpion is the logical choice, but I still would have liked the tongue-in-cheek calembour of a good Box Jellyfish or a Bushmaster snake. Or just plain “AIDS,” “Great White Shark armed with assault rifle,” or anything that guaranteed Hilary Duff never made another album or shitty movie I’d have to write about again.

Hilary Duff’s svelte body graces the cover of Us Weekly’s first ever swimsuit issue, courtesy of years of stringent dieting and maniacal exercise. An inside interview reveals

When the singer/actress was 15, she came across a press report criticizing her for her weight. “It made me obsessed,” she [says] of the story that drove her into a hard-core diet and exercise binge. “I would beat myself up if I had some fat.” But when the 5-foot-2 star’s weight plummeted to around 100 pounds in 2005 (down from 130 in 2003), her sister Haylie, 22, finally intervened.

Good for her. Nobody wants to see a 130-pound behemoth on the cover of a swimsuit issue. Yuck! If I wanted to see fat girls in bikinis, I’d head down to the YMCA pool or rip open the dressing room curtains in the plus-size section at Target. Surprise! You’re fat! Always good for a chuckle. You have to be careful on that last one, though. Fat girls can be unexpectedly nimble. And they have fists like ham hocks. That’s why I always chuck a ho-ho or twinkie in before I yank the curtain back. I find when they’re distracted they’re not nearly as agile. I also find that mace works in a pinch, but it seems that cops consider unsolicited macing an “assault,” so it’s not nearly as fun.

More of Hilary at the ESPY awards with her sister after the jump

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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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Pop tart Hilary Duff wants you to know that she has no eating disorder and that she only lost weight because she exercised. She says she never weighs herself and doesn’t know how much weight she ended up losing while on tour recently.

My best friend was on tour with me and we swam 30 laps every day. We always made sure we stayed at hotels with pools and on the days I didn’t feel like doing it she’d be like. ‘Let’s go.’

Let me tell you the truth: now that Hilary has had a horse teeth transplant, she can only eat grass, hay, grain and apples. Another explanation is drug abuse.

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