Paltrow says she finds the UK’s streets are dirty, the weather cold and
its customer services "rubbish" in an interview with Marie Claire US
edition.

In the article, Paltrow describes being an expat living across the
Pond to her fellow Americans and warns "Bring a raincoat, definitely
… or at Least a little umbrella that can fit in your bag, because it
always does rain." She said [Coldplay frontman and husband, Chris] Martin  thought she was "way too obsessed
with cleanliness and germs".

The star added: "I’m just like ‘The street is filthy, could we take
off our shoes before we come into the house’.

Fellas, this is exactly the type of woman you don’t want to end up with. I bet she has made every single man in her life punch a wall*. First she moves to London and hates America. Now she doesn’t like London. She insisted on naming her kid after a fruit. I bet she has also affected that fake British accent that ex-pats (like Madonna) get after living abroad. "Where’s my MO-BYLE phone? I think I left it on the lift. But its so dark in there I should take a torch.", etc.

I never really saw what everyone thought was so sexy about her. Then again, I am not a necropheliac. She looks just like my grandmother did at her funeral except more pale. Yeah, her eyes were open but the mortician said that was for effect. Did I say mortician? I meant serial killer. Did I say serial killer? I meant me. God I miss her.

* That line came from the hilarious Zach over at Veiled Conceit.

The great Gawker.com has reported that Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey have called it quits. The US Magazine Issue that hit the shelves this morning has the newly-split couple on the cover.

After enduring a year of rumors that their marriage was in trouble, Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey have really split. The bitter back story behind their final decision to separate.

Gawker relates that the article details several reasons for the untimely breakup including:

…creepy-dad Joe Simpson, Jessica’s “diva” behavior, and her
fondness for whiskey on the rocks. One of those ubiquitous sources
close to the couple says, “Jessica’s the problem. She’s not the girl
America fell in love with anymore.”

I’m not sure who was even in love with Jessica, but I know we were all (and still are) amazed by her ginormous boobies   meteoric rise to stardom. Again, classic case of country-come-to-town. You take a repressed ultra-Christian teenager, who is not quite sure what to think about those late night back rubs from papa Simpson, and throw her into the bright lights-big city and she’s going to go buck wild. But, here’s how the whole thing is going to play out. She’ll party for a few months a la Lohan , probably do the coke-nudity-public drunkeness trifecta aka pulling a Tara.  Then, when she is burnt right down to the nub and she is an unmarketable property she will cry for Oprah and say she lost touch with the Lord.  A box of Kleenex +  an Oprah confession =  career revitalized.  God I love the south.

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.

We had a nice little party planned for the 4th of July. Just me and the Swedish Olympic Figure Skaters and lots a booze and oil. I had practiced up for it and everything. I invited a couple of dudes over just for show. Basically so my neighbors wouldn’t be forced to masturbate looking through the window then gouge their eyes out with dinner forks out of pure envy of my awesome life. The party started off well enough. Only a few dudes here and there. Lots of hot women eating BBQ ribs in bikinis. Dirty. Then the yahoos started showing up. Of course I fired my security staff but that’s not the point. Somebody (and that person was obviously dealt with accordingly) broke the first rule of Roof Deck- you don’t talk about roof deck.

Just about the time we were talking about how restricting clothing can be and truly neat-0 the naked female body is–we had a potential jumper. Normally, I would just have security push the person off and dispose of the matter. But if you’ll remember… they were phoning this one in.

I, of course had to take charge. It went something like this:

Me: Hey Jumper! WTF? Ya think you can reel it in?
Jumper: –[looks forlornly at the welcoming ground so far, far below...sighs]
Me:  Jumper! WTF are yo doing? [thinks: there are women about to get naked, please don't "F" this up]
J: [appears to come to her senses as if out of a dark, dark dream of falling into the sweet, calming clutches of that long good night] Whaa..? Oh. Hey. What’s up.
Me: Sweetie, let’s bring in in a notch okay. you’re a little close to the edge.
J: Why? You don’t care. You just don’t want to get sued!
Me: For the  love of…[who the fuck brought this chick?]
J: [huffs and turns back to her contemplation of the next world]
Me: Sweetie…Sweetie… Check this out. I am a renter. I rent. You can take a nap in the street from up here and nothing will happen to me. I just don’t want you to fucking ruin the party. MmKay? So let’s bring it on in and have nice Mojito. Por Favor? See, that was fun wasn’t it? I spoke in Spanish. Whee! Come on in. That’s it. Have a seat right here. These gentlemen will escort to our holding..er uh..rest area. You’re gonna take little nap. K? There there, that’s right. See ya.

My girlfriend, who is hot tempered and feisty ( and hot, holy shit!) came very close to clawing J’s eyes with my BBQ tongs, but thankfully I reminded her that she is still here on an expired visa and she needs to keep the mayhem to a minimum. Besides that’s what I pay my Russian security guards for. Na zdorovje!