RUSSELL CROWE: You should also have skipped that corny trip to Cinderella land, especially since the reports of bad box office receipts coincided with your throwing a phone at someone's face, and that couldn't have been a coincidence. Oh, yeah, don't throw phones at people's faces anymore—or at least discuss with NAOMI CAMPBELL how to do that sort of thing with some grace.

COLIN FARRELL: You've fucked everyone except me. Fuck me!

Breaking and entering: Angelina Jolie
photo: Stephen Vaughn/SMPSP
Breaking and entering: Angelina Jolie


And now that I've savaged some lives and careers, let me salvage my own and defend my fine, fine ass. Why bother? Well, as a C+ level celebrity, I Google my own name all day and encounter all kinds of dirty disses and vituperative grudges. And while I thank you, Anonymous, for spreading my name—and you too, Anonymous—I'm glad I have a forum with which to differ with your bitter complaints.

The most common criticisms are:

1. I'm unattractive.

Well, I'm proud to be considered unsightly, since it means I must have truly triumphed over the odds. Besides, being called displeasing to the eye drives one to build character, read books, and do other things that people who scream "ugly" don't always do. So thanks, all of you (drop-dead gorgeous, I'm sure) aesthetes and cretins. Every put-down drives my hideous puss further into your face.

2. I'm a whore because I've appeared on so many cable shows.

That's totally incorrect because a whore generally gets paid. But even as an often free-sound-bite server, I'm thrilled to be in a position where I'm asked to spout opinions like a crazed windup doll. The pooh-poohers who pretend to be so above it all would pant at the chance to shoot off their mouths for a loving lens. In fact, friends who've long put me down as a media prostie have been known to suddenly exult, "I was walking through Times Square yesterday when TRL panned the crowd! I'm a star!"

3. I'm often spotted looking like I want to be recognized.

Yeah. So?

4. I'm old.

I know!

I didn't really have a choice on that, but I guess all my conscious and subconscious attempts to die didn't work and so here I still am, valiantly carrying on. It's not really a fault—just some horrid Twilight Zone thing that happens if you're lucky enough to keep on breathing and breathing. So before you use "old" as an epithet just because you're terrified of your own mortality, be a little more considerate and maybe even try for some reverence. Nah, never mind.

Yet more unsolicited advice for the wicked

WHITNEY: Drop BOBBY. Bobby: Drop Whitney first. KEVIN FEDERLINE: You mess with my girl in any way and I will not only whup your ass, but I won't support your rap career! ANN COULTER: I think you have low self-esteem—and you're right! CHER: I believe in life after farewell tours. Start yours up again or I shall perish. WOODY ALLEN: Keep obsessively cranking out flicks one after another, even though there's often not any inspiration behind them. I'm serious—occasionally, they turn out OK anyway . . . People: Tune in to MSNBC's smart, observant Countdown With Keith Olbermann. You'll occasionally see me being my crazed windup doll self. Isn't that what you want?


Hold everything, I have some urgent advice for Broadway producers too: Put Cyndi Lauper in something right now, even a jukebox musical. The pop stylist was on fire at last week's all-stars-for-gay-pride True Colors concert, a slick night which only stumbled with its cutesy Up With People-type opening number about how great Lincoln Center is. ("If it's good enough for Marc Chagall, it's good enough for me!"). Things got more sophisticated when the event trotted out knockout perfs by both Broadway divas (Lillias White) and classical ones (two lesbian-lover opera singers who sized each other up longingly between high notes). For the finale, Lauper did her full throttle, exciting thing, running into the crowd and yelping in our faces for extra Laupery effect. Everyone knows that Cyndi was up for the Mrs. Lovett role in the upcoming Sweeney Todd revival, a meat-pie-serving opportunity that went to Patti LuPone instead. Well, I hear the producers wanted Cyndi, but while Sondheim liked her, he ended up anointing Patti, who's an old friend. My guess is that Cyndi would have been a revelation, so let's get the little powerhouse onstage in something—anything—else. It's good enough for me!

P.S: Someone who probably shouldn't be on Broadway is the doctor in the audience who loudly crowed that he just gave one of the concert's stars (whom he named) lotsa prescription refills because she was going away. TMI!

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