It’s only been three weeks since Jessica Simpson started smothering dating NFL player-turned-grad-school-dropout Eric Johnson, but there’s already an engagement ring in the picture. Mostly because she bought it for herself. Nine MSN says:

Jessica Simpson is telling friends that Eric Johnson is her future husband. “She bought herself an engagement ring! A $50,000 three carat emerald-cut diamond!” a friend [revealed].

“Eric is worried he’s not financially secure enough to start a future with her, but Jessica wanted to show him that she doesn’t care about that [by buying the ring herself] — she has enough money for them both.”

But Eric’s estranged wife [says], “Eric is plain out of money. He was going to grad school because he didn’t know what else to do, and then he just dropped out. He lived with me until October of last year, but now he’s living in her house.”

Jesus. I’ve seen Kraken wrapped around the hulls of sinking ships that didn’t seem as desperate and clingy as this broad. And yes, I’m a late 17th century pirate. I thought we’d already been over this.

Alessandra Ambrosio in Russian Vogue, because I don’t do “fat”:

Wow, this Twitpic of Jessica Simpson smooching Eric Johnson made me cream my pants. And that’s because I barfed the yogurt I had for breakfast in my lap. Jessica posted this picture of her making duck lips at the camera with the caption,

“Romance 101..getting kissed by my Yalie…me not lookin’ so smart…:) but YUM!”

Not lookin’ so smart? So you finally noticed what the rest of us knew for years? Well, admitting you’re an idiot is the first step. The first step toward what, I don’t know.

Clutching at love like my thrice-divorced aunt clutches a bottle of Two Buck Chuck:

Picture source: Bauer-Griffin

In Pen #39, here’s a nice little heifer, docile as the day is long. She’s not gone to calf yet, but she is willing and able, as you can tell by her friendly nature and robust frame. What’s my starting bid? Do I hear a sense of desperation and shame?

In Rome with boyfriend Eric Johnson:

PHOTO SOURCE: Bauer Griffin

Here’s one I’m sure you can relate to — this one time I woke up in a frat house bathroom without any pants on. Now, your initial instinct in that situation is to set a small trash can fire as a distraction and bolt for the nearest exit once people start to panic, but seeing as how my lighter was in my pants, I had no choice but to attempt to fashion a makeshift loincloth out of the toilet seat cover. It wouldn’t stay up by itself, but as luck would have it, I found an old ace bandage under the sink that I was able to use to hold the seat cover in place by wrapping it between my legs and over my shoulders and back around my waist, sort of like a sumo wrestler’s diaper, except with suspenders. So why am I telling you all this? Because I’d rather be photographed in my compression-bandage/toilet-accessory ensemble than in that dress Jessica Simpson’s wearing in these pictures. The only way that thing could be more unflattering is if the word “DUMPY” were also cross-stitched across the bosom.

In Capri with Eric Johnson and twenty extra pounds:

PHOTO SOURCE: Bauer-Griffin

This was supposed to be a post about Jessica Simpson’s new football star boyfriend. Until I saw the above picture, that is. Never has there been a more quintessential lonely fat girl picture. It’s the kind of picture you find sandwiched between a worn copy of “Twilight: New Moon” and Weight Watchers calorie-counting guidebook, only the pretty girls’ eyes have been scratched out with a paperclip and there are horns and mustaches on their faces and the back is covered in nacho cheese and tears. It’s like my junior prom photo all over again.

With Brooke Shields and Jennifer Garner at the opening of the Casino Club At The Greenbrier in West Virginia:

PHOTO SOURCE: Fame

Remember all the weight that Jessica Simpson supposedly lost? Well, it looks like she found it again. It must have been hiding under all those Baconator wrappers and empty cartons of Triple Chunk Brownie Sundae. Finders keepers!

PHOTO SOURCE: Bauer-Griffin Online

Here’s Jessica Simpson at the “Operation Smile” gala in New York, sporting her “Bob Mackie 1988 Collector Barbie” dress. When asked what he thought of her dress, pervy pop Joe Simpson made this face and said she should release her bosom, because they looked like “two pigs fightin’ under a blanket”.

I always wondered how it was they got that little ring of plastic around a loaf of a bologna. I don’t wonder anymore.

Jessica Simpson and her casing in New York yesterday:

PHOTO SOURCE: Pacific Coast News

Jessica Simpson and her main gay Ken Paves took to the skies (and subsequently to Twitter) to play hair salon on Saturday. Jess wrote:

Carol Brady who? In flight hairdo fun! Aunt Vikki came along too!!!!

So if you ever wanted to know what your mom would look like if she had been mated with Justin Bieber, here you go. And for the record, you might want to see about getting a therapist. I’m pretty sure they make a pill for “pervert weirdo” nowadays. It’s the only way Charlie Sheen’s allowed out in public with out a minder holding a genital cuff and a cattle prod.

Jessica Simpson appears on the cover of next month’s Marie Claire without any make-up or retouching in an effort to promote her new turd of a show “The Price of Beauty.” She tells the magazine:

“There’s always something that I’ve wanted to fix because there’s always somebody who looks better; that’s what we always compare ourselves to. So I think the [show] really was finding what was beautiful inside of me and knowing that it’s unique and rare. And it was a very powerful journey. It has definitely changed my life.

I just wish I was taller, so all those dresses would fit! I like the bump in my nose. It’s an imperfection, but to me it’s perfection. I’m not against reconstructive surgery if it is for a woman to have more confidence.”

I’m not sure how looking as unattractive as possible on a magazine cover is gonna increase potential viewership, but then again, I’m not a fancy television producer. My instinct would be to go with “boobs” and “more boobs,” followed by a couple of high-speed car crashes and footage of fat people falling down. Which is precisely why I’m already in early stages of development with Fox.

Because the title “The Price of Having a Fame-Hungry Father and a String of Failed Relationships that I Eat My Way Through” didn’t really appeal to test audiences:

This will come as no surprise to you, but no one bothered to watch Jessica Simpson’s new show “The Price of Beauty.” Us Magazine says

Monday’s premiere attracted just 1 million viewers. Around 487,000 people tuned in for the encore later in the night.

The show got beat by a rerun of NCIS, a TruTV series called Operation Repo and History Channel’s Pawn Stars.

Even former American Idol Fantasia Barrino had a stronger debut for her VH1 reality show, Fantasia For Real (her show premiere nabbed 2.3 million viewers.)

You might have thought no one would outperform sister Ashlee in the failure department, but you can never underestimate the elder Simpson. If crashing and burning were an Olympic event, she’d be China. Because she’s gigantic and nobody likes her, you see. And also because she smells like fried pork.

PHOTO SOURCE: Pacific Coast News

I get a lot of hatemail telling me what a misogynistic douchebag I am because I call out celebrities for being fat. Like this post about Jessica Simpson, for example. So in light of all the angry comments and emails, I think I need to explain my reasoning for calling her fat yesterday, so that we can put all this ugliness behinds us and move on with our lives. Or at least so you’ll fuck off and stop being such a whiny crybaby bitch.

Let me begin by saying that fat does not mean obese. I wasn’t saying she’s obese, because she’s clearly not. “Plump” or “chubby” or “ample,” yes. Come on. Just look at her. She’s carrying about fifteen extra pounds around her midsection, whether you want to believe it or not. It’s right fucking there in the pictures. That part’s really not up for debate, because it’s a fact.

So why call her out on it, you ask? Well, here’s why. One, because it’s what I do. Two, she has a slew of dietitians, personal chefs and trainers at her disposal any given time of day; and three, she has more free time in one day than you and I will have in the space of two fucking weeks. That bitch has nothing but time. Somewhere in between getting a manicure and shooting another ProActiv commercial, she ought to be able to squeeze in a half hour at the gym. It’s her job to be attractive. Let’s not pretend she’s a real musician here. Her singing was always average at best — what sold it was the package, the buxom blonde bombshell, the great body.

Now, is she still better looking than 95% of America? Sure she is, because most of us are twenty pounds overweight anyway. So we can all agree here that yes, she is attractive, and yes, she’s gained some weight. The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive.

And lastly, it’s my job to make fun of these people. If you want to read some kiss-ass ode to the wonderfulness that is Hollywood, you’re on the wrong fucking site. Snark is the name of the game here. If you can’t handle it, go back to typing your angry emails and wallowing in your tubs of Rocky Road and self-loathing. If you’ll excuse me now, I’m off to the gym. You know what they say — people who live in glass houses shouldn’t walk around naked. Not unless they’ve got my 12% body fat and rock-hard gluts, anyway. Recognize!

And now for the one thing that binds us all together — boobs:

PHOTO SOURCE: Pacific Coast News