This month’s issue of Shape magazine has a pretty sexy layout of Hilary Duff rockin’ some serious abs. I don’t usually read Shape unless I’m stuck on the crapper with only six month old Sports Illustrateds and a “Family Circus” collective as my alternatives, but this photo shoot may very well yield a subscription out of me. Who knew this chick was such a fox? When I saw this footage of Hilary on ET I actually did a comedic double-take — replete with a “Whaaa?” and an incredulous neck crane towards the television — before a monkey in a top hat dumped a glass of water in my lap and the TV started to melt.

Well… I think that’s what happened. I might have been having another acid flashback and just pissed my pants again. I don’t know anymore. Bottom line, I was wet, either from a glass of monkey-water or my own urine, and Hilary Duff is my new thinspiration. The end.

More screen caps of Hilary’s Shape shoot after the jump. As soon as HQ’s become available, I’ll update.

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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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