The whole of the world’s news media (Starpulse, TMZ, the lady who does my manicures) is abuzz about LiLo’s nude shots in NY Magazine. Well, I suppose it was “Just My Luck” that I happen to know Brent Stern, the photographer who snapped the pics, and he helped me “Get a Clue” about what the experience was like. Sounds like it was quite a “Freaky Friday,” although it occured on a Tuesday. I guess you could say “I Know Who Killed Me!”

So what was it like to re-shoot something you already shot of someone imitating a dead woman they look nothing like? I think I’ll let the man speak for himself. Without further ado, Brent Stern’s behind-the-lens info on the shoot!

“This was our first shot of the day, and classic Marilyn. Nearly perfect, in fact, down to the “tattoo” on Lindsay’s right buttock. Ironically, we had forgotten about the tattoo in Marilyn’s photo; Lindsay just happened to sit in some gunk right before the shot.”

“This pink cloth is supposed to represent the virginal state of the model, a chiffon hymen if you will. True to Marilyn’s original poses, Lindsay had just finished giving oral sex to JFK. Only Lindsay’s JFK was Jerry Frances King, our lighting technician. Way to go, Jer.”

“Naturally, once we got a closer look, we realized a blue polka dot pattern would more accurately represent Ms. Lohan’s disease-ravaged vaginal interior.”

(more…)

One of the many onerous burdens placed upon the Cracked blogger is that of wading through countless vapid, hastily-written web articles dissecting the minutiae of celebrities’ lives to the point that one wonders if there wouldn’t be profit in the attainment and sale of Lindsay Lohan’s solid waste.

But of all the terrible places on the web dedicated to destroying the lives of our former idols for the sheer lulz of it, I’ve gotta hand it to the reporters at TMZ.com: at least they try to dress up their dreck by pretending they’re fast-talkin’ journalists from the forties. Aside from my daily ether rag, it’s the only thing that makes my job bearable.

Take this article about Britney Spears’ latest run-in with the law (something involving an industrial combine and that nice man with the big eyebrows from The OC, I believe).

In three paragraphs, the reporter manages to insert the phrases “will the judge be buyin’ what he’s sellin’,” “all things Britney,” “the whole magilla,” “take a hike,” and my personal favorite “smells like it.”

In light of this, I have a personal request for the reporters over at TMZ: as someone who relies on your “news” on a daily basis, it would really mean a lot to me if you’d go even further in dressing up these stories. Reporting on Britney as Jennifer Leigh in The Hudsucker Proxy is a good start, but the possibilities are truly endless.

Here, I’ll toss out some sample sentences from possible future TMZ stories, and I think you’ll get a better idea of what I’m talking about.

I was taking a belt of mystery liquor from my hip flask when another kind of poison, the dame kind, strolled into my office like a runaway freight train. It was Amy Winehouse, and she was higher than a kite on Sunday.

James Gandolfini enters from stage left, exasperated. Paparazzo 1 enters right and crosses down, oppressively friendly. A brief scuffle. Exuent.

Clemens could break down and cry
For wanting his trainer to lie
But McNamee claims
“When I couldn’t find veins,
I injected it straight in his eye.”

Paris Hilton. Stop. Showed vagina. Stop. Link. Stop.

Dearest friend,
I write to inform you of a most unusual happening that occurred whilst I was away in the country under doctors’ orders (they feel the dry climate will do wonders for my rubella). From what I’ve gathered during my evening jaunts to the local tavern, and, I must admit, by purchasing rounds of ale for the stablemen and smith’s apprentices who frequent it, Tom Sizemore was raped in prison.

I expect all future TMZ articles to be written in a format at least as colorful as those above. Please see that this is done.

---

When not blogging for Cracked, Michael makes period videos as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

While browsing Google News yesterday, I suddenly came upon the headline “Maggie Gyllenhaal in Lesbian Orgy.” Needless to say, that’s the type of link I usually see while browsing certain other websites, so I was intrigued enough to click.

Ultimately, it was just a short film she made for “Speechless”, a campaign supporting the writers’ strike, and featured no nudity whatsoever.

And while I still managed to masturbate to the video several times, I have to say I was disappointed with the overall quality. It made it painfully clear that the writers are on strike, not through its own will, but simply by the fact that it felt like the plot had been conceived and written by a chimp on a bender.

In the vid, three women all arrive at an apartment for a date with (gasp!) the same man, AMPiTePa (get it?), who they then bag on for being selfish and arrogant. Then they bone. Then a pizza girl comes and presumably joins them. Oh, I see. I should support the writers.

A brief aside: I hate it when snide, jaded Internet writers say petty, mean things about celebrities, who after all are people too, and have feelings and self-images capable of being damaged. So it is with the utmost self-loathing that I hypocritically point out that Maggie Gyllenhaal is less than attractive in this video.

I only bring it up because I have been attracted to her in the past, and in this video there is a moment where she awkwardly smiles at another girl in an elevator and her cheeks balloon to the size of frightened blowfish. Perhaps the people who make her pretty are on strike as well; who knows.

But getting back to the writing, I find it a bit of a slap in the face to have it thought that I need dialogue and symbolism as transparent as this to get the point. I’m assuming the lesbian orgy bit was thrown in at the end because they worried about my minuscule attention span drifting if I didn’t have the promise of sex to look forward to.

Ever eager to scab, here are some brief outlines for more installments of the “Speechless” campaign that I feel capture the key elements they’re looking for:

Joan Cusack’s abusive husband John Producer is drunk again, but things are put to rights when a squad of sexy lady policewomen arrive and bang away her tears.

Kirsten Dunst is found raped and murdered in the basement of the AMPTP building, and only the oral ministrations of a lesbian shaman can raise her.

Jennifer Connelly is forced to go ass to ass for heroin at an AMPTP company summit. (This one is especially easy to produce, as it just requires some creative re-editing and voiceover work).

If you or your organization are morons and would like to pay me to think for you, please leave your credit card information in the comments section below.

---

When not blogging for Cracked, Michael makes lesbian orgy videos as head writer and con-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

Rachel Bilson is more than just attractive; she’s attractive in a way that allows delusional guys to think they could hook up with her one day. She’s a naughty sex diva. But she’s also like your best friend’s little sister who wants to have sex with you —as practice— before she goes off to college a virgin. (That happens right?)

In any event, the dream is over. Rachel has done something unforgivable. Something so irrevocably horrible that she’s been removed permanently from the masturbatory minds of pubescents and dirty old men alike: she’s started dating that whiny, Star Wars-ruining, cry-baby. No, not George Lucas. She’s going out with, the chosen one, Hayden Christensen. The actor who answered the question, what if the great Sith Lord Darth Vader were a smug little twit who threw tantrums like the kid down the street who took his Nerf ball and went home when he started losing?

And while Rachel’s decision is soul-crushing, at least she has the good sense to lie about it. When asked what the “H” on her bracelet stood for, Bilson denied it had anything to do with Hayden, and, instead, replied:

“My little sister’s name is Hattie, and my favorite food is hash browns.”

That might seem lame, but really, who can blame her? Hell, I’m sure she’d be willing to make up all sorts of H-based lies to avoid acknowledging the sex she’s having with Hayden Christensen. Seriously, wouldn’t any of the following explanations still be more dignified?

• Heroin. I’m tragically addicted to heroin.
• Herpes. My vagina is incurably riddled with Herpes.
• Hell. I love Hell, and I am a pround member of the Church of Satan.
• Hitler. I’m not a neo-Nazi, but what can I say? I dig Der Fuhrer.
• Hermaphrodite. I, Rachel Bilson, am a Hermaphrodite. But rest assured, neither my penis nor vagina is gonna get anywhere near that douche Hayden Christensen.

---

Gladstone writes for Cracked and others. Check out his latest offering or go to Wayne Gladstone Lives in Maine to see all his published stuff, his full name, and state of residence.

Leave it to the intrepid Spears gals not to let a little thing like a surprise teen pregnancy keep them down. They’re almost exactly like the Hardy Boys, if the Hardy Boys had a book called The Hardy Boys and the Mystery of the Staggering Series of Personal Setbacks.

Well, now Spears the younger has decided to finish out the fourth and last season of her hit (in the sense that I’ve never seen it, and I’m totally out of touch with popular culture) TV series Zoey 101, which I imagine from the name tells the story of 101 adorable teenage girls who escape being skinned alive by a wicked governess.

Naturally, her pregnancy will have some minor effect on the course of the series–writers will likely have to abandon the “Zoey plans to attend and compete in an International Gut-Punching Championship” plot line, for instance—but I think this episode guide pirated off of one of my favorite Nickelodeon forums (I have several) illustrates just how clever they can be.

Spoilers ahead!

E401: Zoey is in love with Chase, but an offhand comment about some “extra weight” she has put on leaves her down in the dumps. Only her best friends and a night out on the town can help. Let’s do it!

E402: All the kids at school are puzzled when Zoey trades in her trademark outfits in favor of roomy coats and muumuus. Uh, whatever!

E403: When Zoey has a sudden craving for ice cream and pickles, the cafeteria staff have their hands full. Girl power!

E404: Chase is thrown for a loop when Zoey takes a job warming whole chickens by carrying them around under her shirt. Say what?!

E405: Zoey’s big sister drops in for a surprise visit and takes her out of school for the day. Guest starring James Van Der Beek as the receptionist at the Clinic. Hunk alert!

E406-410: Zoey recovers at home.

E412 (Series Finale): Chase finally reveals his love for Zoey at Senior Prom, but Zoey no longer wants to be touched by a man. Awkward!

And in a special Zoey 101 retrospective, Zoey looks at old pictures of herself and cries. Girl, you crazy!

---

When not blogging for Cracked, Michael makes list-formatted videos as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

When he was awarded the medal of valor in the face of freedom (or something) four years ago at a secret underground Scientology convention, madman and handsome devil Tom Cruise presented a brief video interview in which he discussed his views on Scientology, his abiding passion for its teachings, and other crazy nonsense. Shockingly, it’s taken that long for the thing to leak to the Internet.

What you didn’t know (until now!) was that the liberal use of jump cuts in the interview was a largely successful attempt to gloss over some of Mr. Cruise’s more “off-balance” remarks. Well, let it never be said that I won’t face hordes of enraged attack dogs, thetans and Katie Holmeses to get to the bottom of a story.

Here, for the first time, I present to you the interview with the edited portions re-inserted. Mr. Cruise?

NOTE: This video was removed due to a complaint by the Church of Scientology. I have re-posted it in a (slightly) lower profile location. Enjoy it while it lasts, folks. And hey, while I’m at it, I’ll be a whore and say DIGGS PLEEZ, if only because I hate the Church of Scientology that much.

---

Besides blogging for CRACKED, Michael also makes slanderous videos as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

Since the regular author of Cracked Science Corner!!!!11!! is on vacation, I’ve decided to fill you in on a topic that is just as important, and probably has more truth to it than all those wishy-washy science “theories” like “man evolved from apes” or “Ron Paul did 9/11″—I’m speaking, of course, of the wonderful world of entertainment news!

I Am Cellphone Man: Black Sabbath frontman and noted pooper-scooper Ozzy Osbourne has finally entered the 21st century, receiving his first cellphone at the age of 59. However, daughter Kelly isn’t so thrilled:

He never had a mobile before and I f**king hate it. He calls me all the time. I was out having dinner with my friends the other night and he called me and said, ‘I’ve just got to tell you. I’ve been listening to your album. It’s really good. I don’t know why it didn’t do so well.

When asked about the compliment later, Osborne noted that he was pretty sure he had been speaking to Beethoven.

Guess They’ll Have to Make Do with Buttsex: Forty years ago this month, Johnny Cash performed at Folsom Prison, and the result was an iconic moment in popular music history. An attempt to recreate the classic performance on its anniversary has been canceled, however, much to the disappointment of the show’s promoter and prison inmates:

Prison officials called off the show late Monday, citing problems over filming rights, media access and security concerns… The show, which would have been streamed worldwide over the Internet, was to have been underwritten by four nonprofit groups that were to share the venture’s profit.

Although concert planners initially believed that the security and copyright issues could be resolved, they were forced to concede that the show had to be scrapped when they received the devastating news last week that Johnny Cash died in 2003.

The Mama and the Poppers: When Kate Moss, supermodel and primary export partner of the nation of Colombia, was unable to find a baby-sitter for her 5-year-old daughter on New Years’ Eve, she did what any caring parent would—took the kid clubbing in Thailand:

A source tells New York gossip column PageSix, “Kate was dancing around with Lila, and they were sipping champagne until well past midnight. But Kate was definitely being a mom. She was with her daughter the whole time.”

When asked to describe ways in which she demonstrated her mothering skills, Moss noted that she made sure her daughter followed three simple rules for staying safe:

• Liquor before beer, never fear
• I don’t care what Jamie Lynn said, Red Bull is not a contraceptive; and
• No matter how pretty the lady is, don’t snort anything off her penis

God damn, I’ve written a lot about Britney Spears. When I think of all the time I’ve wasted, all the sands that have flown through the tragically small hourglass that is my limited time on this Earth, while I tip-tapped away on my little keyboard about every last scandal or stupid remark made by this woman, it gives me serious pause.

That’s why, upon learning of her absolutely and totally non-surprising hostage/bathroom/ambulance/suicide-watch meltdown last night, I decided that rather than devote one more of my limited breaths to chronicling Ms. Spears’ Trash Capades, I would solemnly resolve to live out my remaining days breathing the free air of a man who has forever liberated himself from her tyranny (and herpes).

You read that right: I will never write about Britney Spears again.

So today, I will look back at the long journey she and I have taken together, as a means of bringing our blogger/celebriwhore relationship to a merciful close. Our saga begins five long years and four long blogs ago…

November 5, 2003: “Popular singer and ’sex on a stick’ Britney Spears recently sat down, put on her Thinking Bra and answered the hard questions. Unlike all of you ungrateful malcontents, she correctly believes ‘…we should just trust our president in every decision that he makes and we should just support that.’ She then finished the interview by reciting the Lord’s Prayer while engaging in an open-mouthed tongue kiss with interviewer Tucker Carlson.”

January 16, 2004: “Britney Spears—The fried brain of this popular chanteuse is light, fluffy, and resembles a puff pastry. Lightly dusted with powdered Sweet-N-Low, then served on Wonder bread with mayonnaise, sweet relish, and a side of bubble gum.”

January 23, 2004: “Let it be noted that I realize that in twenty years, we’ll be all be listening to a 250-lb. Britney Spears read scripted one-liners about blogs on I Love the Zero-ies.”

March 15, 2004: “Britney Spears’ 115 minutes of fame will end suddenly when audiences realize, mid-Pepsi commercial, that she looks exactly like the butch softball player who threatened to beat them up in 11th-grade P.E.”

(more…)

Considering the fact that Conan O’Brien wrote some of The Simpsons‘ funniest episodes (see exhibit A, Marge vs. the Monorail), I tuned to NBC on Thursday night assuming he would weather the writer’s strike without much problem.

I realized I was horrifically mistaken right about the second time he spun his wedding ring on his desk, an activity that took about three minutes at a stretch, and which he told the audience at the top of the show “he did when he was bored in rehearsals.”

Now THAT is an entertainer: “Oh this? This that I’m doing right now? This is what I do when there’s nothing interesting going on. This right here. We’ll be back after these messages.”

On the one hand, he played it classy by manning up and discussing the strike, supporting the writers, and admitting (way too frequently) that he was “just killing time.” On the other hand, who the hell wants to watch Conan O’Brien underperform an hour every night? I mean besides his wife.

In a lot of ways it reminded me of watching my grandfather try and entertain young children. There was the weird fascination with his beard (slow panning shots of which replaced most of the monologue), the manic clown-like dancing, and of course the glazed look of desperation whenever it dawned on him that he still had ten minutes to go before Saget came on. At that point, he would invariably say something hilarious like “this water is good,” “this is really good water,” or “you can’t get good water like this.”

He also showed a short video touring his office, revealing once and for all that he’s exactly as you imagine him to be: he plays electric guitar, talks into an old rotary phone, and performs puppet shows with an action figure of himself. In short, he’s your college roommate trying (unsuccessfully) to impress a girl into sleeping with him.

So thank you, Conan, for proving your dedication to the writers with a graphic depiction of why they are so very necessary. Here’s to your unsettling beard and funnier days.

---

Besides blogging for CRACKED, Michael also makes hilarious videos as writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

Awesome Video Of The Day

Old Man Goes Nuts In A Car Wash

One time I broke my antenna off in a car wash. I had the stereo on and didn’t really think about it, and then when I got out the thing was hanging by a thread over the side of the car. The radio still gets decent reception, but I guess I would have preferred to keep the antenna attached. Maybe if I’d noticed that it was getting destroyed I would have done something about it. You know - like go completely fucking insane and destroy my entire car.

According to the internet (or more specifically, the video description from Break.com, which seems like a reliable and accurate source to me), the police report said the “old” guy in this video “went nuts” when he realized he had lost his glasses. It doesn’t make it clear if he lost them inside the car or in the car wash itself, but either way I don’t think this reaction would really solve anything. Unless your goal was to blow up on YouTube, figure out a way to monetize your newfound celebrity, and use the money to buy some new glasses. In which case you’re a visionary genius and probably not the type to lose your glasses in the first place.

(more…)