I was supposed to be on a two week vacation from Cracked. I’d even cleared everything with my editor, Jack O’Brien. But late last night, I got a desperate phone call:

“Gladstone. Come back. I need you.”

By an amazing coincidence, a compliant and sexual curious Gillian Anderson had said the same thing to me only hours earlier. But this was different. This was Jack. And he was in a bad way. At first, I assumed he was still grieving over his ridiculous decision not to feature my Radiohead video on the home page. But, incredibly, it turned out that wasn’t it at all.

“It’s my girlfriend,” he said. “I think. . . I think she’s fucking Justin Timberlake!”

I was shocked. I’d known Jack for almost three years and not once in all that time did it ever occur to me that he was straight. But apparently, as Jack explained, he’d been in a serious relationship with Miranda “LaserBeam” Johannsen —dental hygienist and former American Gladiator— for over six months. I tried to take that all in as I quietly unwrapped the Village People box set I was about to send him for his birthday.

“Gladstone, are you there?”

“Not only am I here, but I know four simple steps to help you find out for sure.”

“Could you tell me?” Jack asked. “And more importantly, could you turn it into a column because, I gotta admit, the blog’s turned to pure crap without you the last ten days.”

FOUR SURE-FIRE WAYS TO TELL IF YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS SCREWING JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE

1. She Keeps Grooming You To Look More White Trash and/or Orthodox Jew

Seriously, how does he do it? With a minimum of effort Timberlake can go from the kind of trailer trash who puts pork rinds on a fluffernutter sandwich to the truly devout who shuns both pork and shellfish based on passages in the book of Leviticus. Most impressive, is that Timberlake achieves both these extremes in his failed attempts to be Black. I’m not sure why your girlfriend digs this. Perhaps, her first love was Rabbi Scooter Bob Horowitz? But you know what they say: “Once white trash/Orthodox Jew in a failed attempt to be Black, never back.” So odds are good that if she’s bedding down with Timberlake, then she’ll want more of that good stuff from you.

Jack’s Score:

Yes, Jack can be made to look white trash — hell, he does that to himself by shopping at the last remaining Chess King in existence— but make this guy look Jewish? The only time people say “Jack O’Brien” and “beard” in the same sentence is when they’re referring to his girlfriend (who may or may not be fucking Justin Timberlake).

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Every once in awhile the media exalts some random celebrity to renaissance man status. Right now, that man is Justin Timberlake.

First, he was a successful boybander. Then, a hit solo artist. Then he turned up in a movie. It doesn’t matter that it was a rape fantasy soft core midget porn movie; it was still a movie!!

And now the Grammy winner is executive producer on a new show called My Problems With Women.

Wow. Is there anything this annoying, no-talent, scrawny piece of a shit can’t do?

He’s really got it all:

• Crying like a little bitch on Punk’d? Check!
• Satisfying his older lady fantasies with the only “beautiful” woman who bears a resemblance to Max Schmelling? Check!!
• Somehow capturing the look of BOTH redneck white trash and Orthodox Jew? Check!!!

Seriously, enough with this guy. Men will admit that Brad Pitt and George Clooney are attractive. Men don’t even mind that their girlfriends openly masturbate during Oceans 11. But I have yet to meet one dude who looked in the mirror and said, “Damn, I wish I looked more like the sniveling little brother of a bayou serial rapist.”

I’m not buying it. Timberlake is not Da Vinci. He’s just some dude. If he were taking your order at the McDonalds Drive Thru, you’d definitely double-check the bag before driving away. And you just KNOW, he’d totally forget the Sweet N’ Sour sauce you clearly asked for.

Am I wrong?

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Check out some more Gladstone over HERE. 

News has it that Kate Moss is so desperate for a baby that she’s switching to Gwyneth Paltrow’s eccentric macrobiotic diet in the hopes it will help her conceive.

Wow. There are so many odd things about that.

For starters, I’ve never imagined that Kate Moss and Gwyneth Paltrow could live together in the same sentence. Y’know, except maybe in some sort of Goofus and Gallant construction like “At a dinner party, Gwyneth always politely excuses herself before getting up from the table; Kate leaves to snort blow off the hostess’ coffee table.”

The other weird thing is that, although I’ve always been told that Gwyneth Paltrow and Kate Moss are super hot, I’ve never, ever, under any circumstances, been attracted to these ladies. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I have these two images emblazoned into my retinas, but even before that, I just never drank the Kool Aid. And, now, after all these years, here they are in one useless celeb story.

But what strikes me most about this report is that Kate Moss was faced with fertility problems and her first solution was to start eating like a pale, once-famous, pseudo Englishwoman.
I think a simpler answer is at hand.

Ms. Moss, I understand your desire for a child, and, if I may, I’d like to suggest an alternative to eating like a rabbit with food allergies.

The key to getting pregnant is predicting when you are ovulating. Accordingly, plot your last menses on a calendar and then count forward 7 – 10 days. Science also tells us that the female body jumps slightly in temperature preceding ovulation. You may want to start plotting your temperature on a daily basis to help you predict the prime time for your chance to conceive.

Then, and this is very important, eat a damn sandwich or something. And stop doing all that blow. You’re trying to conceive a child, not a twitching Dunkin’ Donuts powdered sugar Munchkin.

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Check out some more Gladstone over HERE. And his latest YouTube video HERE.

So it seems Yoko Ono has been doing more these days than watching Cirque du Soleil’s Love and wearing oversized glasses: she’s also suing a Tennessee singer-songwriter who goes by Lennon Murphy for her use of the “Lennon” name. Ono’s lawsuit seeks to prevent Murphy from using “Lennon” due to the confusion it could cause in the marketplace.

This handy side by side analysis, however, proves that, name or not, there’s little chance these two artists could be confused:

JOHN LENNON	LENNON MURPHY
Was the walrus.	Is a fox.
Was a visionary songwriter who shattered the boundaries of conventional pop music.	Seems to have really nice breasts.
I own every Beatles Album.	I placed the link to the above photo in my favorites.
Collaborated with Paul McCartney, David Bowie, Elton John, and Phil Spector.	Sang Britney’s “Hit Me Baby One More Time” at TGI Friday’s Karaoke Night.
Meditated with the Maharishi.	Ate Indian food. Once. At the mall. Didn’t care for it.
Made me want to imagine no possessions	Makes me want to imagine sodomy.
Often mistaken as the Beatle who wrote Yesterday	Often mistaken.
Screwed by Yoko Ono.	Screwed by Yoko Ono.

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Check out some more Gladstone HERE and HERE.

Last night, Amy Winehouse won some Grammys, performed on TV, and, likely, twitched in a fetal position from excruciating withdrawal symptoms. But sometime after the first two events, and prior to the third, she did something really exciting: she recorded an interview with me for an episode of the Cracked Celebrity News.

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Check out some more Gladstone HERE and HERE. And tomorrow, be sure to check the Cracked.com home page for a new Those Aren’t Muskets! Valentine’s Day skit written by Cracked bloggers Michael Swaim and Gladstone.

Some of you may remember my blog post on Monday about environmentalists, and why I don’t necessarily “hate” them, but I may “harbor a feeling of extreme enmity, revulsion, or hatred” towards them.

Well, in exhaustively researching that deeply factually flawed piece of info-journalism, I had the unexpected pleasure of being confronted with a series of (mostly) gorgeous naked women while image searching for bullshit pictures to keep you interested during my long, rambling tirade. And here they are:

Seriously, those are all on the first page of a Google Image Search for “PETA.” Don’t read the text on that first one, by the way; it’s the exact opposite of what belongs on a picture of a naked woman. By which I mean it’s the exact opposite of [insert joke about your penis and/or sperm].

Also, WHO STILL WEARS FUR?!! I mean, if it’s going to get Alicia Silverstone naked, I guess it’s fine, but I seriously haven’t seen anyone wearing fur in at least five years. The whole thing is bizarre, and implies that at some point in the past, at PETA’s public relations headquarters, this conversation occurred:

A Dog, Who is also President of PETA: You guys, people totally hate us for our extremism. What should we do? Blow up something?

6th Degree Vegan: I have an even better idea. Naked ladies.

3rd Degree Vegan: What about them?

6th Degree Vegan: Put them everywhere. All our ads. Connect them to our cause, no matter how tenuously.

A Dog: But that has nothing to do with our beliefs or values.

6th Degree Vegan: Yeah but sex sells.

3rd Degree Vegan: Really?

6th Degree Vegan: I’m pretty sure. I read it on the back of a business book while I was in line at Kinko’s.

A Dog: You went to Kinko’s?! Don’t you know their glue base is made from the eye jelly of the endangered Moroccan Root Beetle?!

6th Degree Vegan: Oh No!

The 6th Degree Vegan kills himself in the traditional PETA method, by standing up too fast and collapsing from exhaustion. The others, loathe to let any part of an animal go to waste, construct a crude bicycle out of the corpse and ride it to a falafel bar.

So don’t masturbate too hard, fellas (and lesbos; I don’t discriminate). Most of those women are nuts.

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Besides blogging for CRACKED, Michael also makes HUGELY DIGGABLE OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW WELL THAT THING DID !!! videos as writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

Okay folks, time to set aside such weighty matters as Tom Cruise’s gun, Val Kilmer’s gut, and the amazing vocal talents of Gladstone, and once again turn your attention to those matters least deserving of attention… the Unnecessary News!

Asshole Adonis: Mustachioed macho-man Burt Reynolds told reporters recently that he hates looking at pictures from his 70s-sex-god days because they make him look like “an asshole.” The Cannonball Run II star much prefers recent photos, which make him look like an asshole with a really shitty facelift.

Nothing and Nobody: In accordance with my solemn vow of January 4th, nothing reportedly happened to no person this week, much to the shock of no one. Despite the fact that Starpulse is clearly baiting me, I steadfastly report that no half-unclothed person made any non-statement to any public employees regarding said lack of clothes or that non-existent person’s attractiveness, nor wrote any suicide notes, nor purchased any reproductive diagnostic tests at any time. It just didn’t happen!

And finally, in the item voted “Most Likely to Earn Me a Death Threat”:

Papal Bull: Just in time to be ten years too late, Pope Benedict XVI has lashed out at the colossally successful Harry Potter franchise. The Supreme Pontiff (shown here in his “Bad Santa” costume) argued in the Vatican’s newspaper L’Osservatore Romano that the popular books and films could lead children towards an “unhealthy” interest in Satanism, and away from healthier pursuits such as giving priests handjobs.

Unnecessary, I tell you!

Actor and celebrity brother Chad “Not the Sex with Teenagers One” Lowe recently lashed out at rumors that his ladyfriend Kim Painter has been having a torrid affair with none other than Val Fucking Kilmer:

The Unfaithful star’s producer beau was recently photographed out and about with 48-year-old Kilmer—but Lowe has vehemently denied any romantic relationship between his partner and the Alexander star.

First of all, there’s just no way that Val Kilmer is 48—I don’t care what the birth certificate says, he’ll always be that glistening young gay volleyball stud from Top Gun to me. But more importantly, I feel for Mr. Not-Rob, since the thought of competing with a chiseled piece of man-meat like Val is daunting to say the least. It’s no Top Secret that you’d have to be either a Saint or a Real Genius in Heat or be living in Wonderland to stack up against a Thunderheart like him. Either that or Batman Forever on the Red Planet.

Don’t believe me? Let’s just take a look at the kind of raw animal magnetism that no girlfriend of a famous dude’s brother can hope to resist:

P.S. Madmartigan!

There’s so much to talk about today, it’s been difficult to pick one topic that stands out as deserving my sole attention; for example, I could talk about how Method Man (of the Wu-Tang Clan) said recently that Britney Spears’ head-shaving was a sign of the coming Apocalypse (other signs include breakdancers with backwards feet and talking toilet paper rolls).

Or I could discuss which present I’m more anxiously salivating over this holiday season—a Hanukkah ham, or a $500 framed rhino turd.

I suppose I could even chat about the geopolitical ramifications of actress Eva Mendes’s controversial statement this week that “Boobs are good!” (For future discussion: are they?)

But instead, I think I’d like to set those issues (important though they may be) aside, and take this time to share something with you, something that transcends the day-to-day inanity of the blogosphere, and speaks directly to the heart—something with a power so piercing and pure that mere words cannot hope to describe its significance.

My friends, the incredible thing I’m speaking of is this picture of Ray Liotta:

… you just think about that.