NSFW – Fatback Media

According to the always sassy PerezHilton , Country-fried hotness Jaime Pressly  was seen with Wilmer Valderrama at Tao ( in Las Vegas) making out after dancing on Tao’s center runway. Jamie is the quintessential example of country-come-to-town but then made-it-in-the-big-city.  And by made it I mean she showed her boobies a lot.  A lot.  What really bothers me is that Fez is on his way to being the next Scott Baio and not getting his ass kicked by the neighborhood bully. I try to catch him, but he is a quick little fucker.

*Post Script: My girlfriend thinks she is  hot and that her  "funny accent" is cute. And  since I am a world ambassador  of peace and diversity, I plan on having the two meet. Naked. In my  gigantic jaccuzi filled with  unicorn tears. More Jaime over at here (NSFW) after the jump.

And the exploitation begins. After reportedly signing a $3 million+ exlcusive photo shoot with OK magazine it looks like Britney’s dad is trying to catch a ride on the Sean Preston Money train.  According to a source, "The singer’s dad launched a new drink in California called Preston Smoothie".

Britney Spears’s dad, Jamie, is showing everybody how much he loves his grandson. He decided to introduce a new drink at his Californian café JJ Chill named after the newborn tot, who has reportedly been called Sean Preston.

"We’re introducing a new smoothie in honour of Britney’s boy. We’re calling it the Preston Smoothie and it consists of only fat-free frozen yogurt, strawberries
and mangoes", the JJ Chill co-owner Joseph Nejman revealed.

The drink will cost $12.99 and each will have six  drops of Baby Sean Preston’s unbaptized blood in them.

I just got back from a working vacation down south and I am about to check myself into several 12 step programs to get back into the swing of things. I tried to visit Mindy McCready but she wouldn’t answer her phone/door/window/basement/skylight. I really think I could have a chance with her and by chance I mean I have a box Oxycontin and a full bottle of Jack Daniels. But I digress…

I ate fried fish, fried oysters, fried okra, fried apple pie and a fried human baby. It was awesome. Unfortunately my southern brethren still allow smoking in bars, restaurants, hotels and hospital operating rooms (doctors only) so I lopped a huge chunk of my lifespan off during my trip. But I figure my liver will just give up and leave town long before I get second hand smokers lung cancer, so I’m ahh-ite. Again, I digress…

I did enjoy the being back home in the south, though. It is a beautiful area populated with hot Scandinavian women who are tolerant of all religions and are up for anything involving sex aerobics…wait that’s my house. The south is populated with incredibly hot, racist, republican women, who cut their hair short and get fat as soon as you’ve said "I do".* Why do you think they get married so young down there. There is only a small window of time in the transformation from hot cheerleader to fat-assed abortion clinic protester. They have to get ‘em while they’re hot. As for me, I like my women like I like my Vodka: Tall, Scandinavian and can kick my ass (at sex Olympics).   

*If you take issue with this statement then you should pack up the minivan with your screaming young’uns and drive your fatass up north and tell me about, fatty.

Ever since starting my new diet, i.e. the one that has made me fuckin’ ripped and makes me constantly have to fight off highly tanned supermodel debutants from the deep south [back off bitches...seat's taken], I have really started missing good ole southern comfort food like my granny used to make. Specifically: fried chicken. Remember fried chicken? Yeah, way before Mcnugget’s and Chix tenders, and fingers and all that other bullshit, people would take WHOLE chicken parts, soak ‘em in buttermilk, roll ‘em in flour and fry the shit out of ‘em. Fried Chicken, esp. a la my granny simply. Fucking. Rocks.  I live in Boston now [and I'm on a health kick- sorry granny] so, fried chicken is a thing of the past. However, now that I’m at fighting weight and my ninja-Aikido skillz are at peak form, I may just go out and get me yard bird, fry the shit out of it and make some biscuit gravy. Of course, I’ll have to eat it when my supemodel girlfirend is out training for the marathon though, because she’s not having any part of any food that begins with fried. In fact, I’m hard pressed to get anything even cooked when she makes dinner [I’m all for raw vegetables, but potatoes are not meant to eaten like  apples, they were meant to be baked, then fried, then scalloped then submerged into hot pig fat and  bacon bits…but I digress.

Down South, frying chicken (or anything else for that matter) is an art. Your choice of fat, whether it be lard, peanut oil, bacon grease or good ole butter is merely the beginning. You need the right vessel, heat source and breader/seasoning. A mistep in any one of these categories could spell disaster, not only for your dinner guests, but for your cooking space as well. Many well-intended frying seesions have ended in an uncontrollable house fire.