• Who wears short shorts? Jessica Simpson wears short shorts. Heyyyyy. Nice mons pubis.

• Given the choice, Nick Lachey would rather be stuck on a desert island with Satan than with his supremely vile former father-in-law, Papa Joe Simpson. That makes 6 billion of us, Nick.

• Kate Moss might as well face that she's addicted to Pete Doherty. She wishes she knew how to quit him. Brokecrack Mountain?

• Another Doherty--Shannen--angrily hung up on a Newsweek reporter after being asked about her fiery, Naomi-Campbell-like, fired-from-Spelling-shows days. God, you run over a boyfriend 15 years ago and you never hear the end of it!

• "Christina Milian" kind of rhymes with "this tiny little thong". Sorta.

• The divorce gets ugly: Travis Barker questions his estranged wife Shanna Moakler's parenting skills, booze intake, nail salon visits, and open-door vagina policy . . . on his MySpace blog! We can't wait until she hits back with a string of vitriolic friend comments and some extra-hot profile pics taken in the bathroom mirror.

• Keith Urban, pre-tooth job looks an awful lot like Limahl of Kajagoogoo fame.

• Note to Nicole Richie: when size 000 bikini bottoms start to look like droopy adult sumo diapers, it might be time to try a cruller or something.

• One, two, princes kneel before you/thats what I said, now/princes, princes who adore you/just go ahead, now/William has a cosmo in his hand/that sounds great, now/Harry said he wants to honk your mam, now/aint in his head, now.  

After their marriage, Nicole Kidman and her new husband, crooning outback troubadour Keith Urban, jetted to a remote, staggeringly expensive, extremely private resort on the island of Bora Bora. Picture it: You're arguably the world's most famous actress, you've just pulled of a smooth wedding, you're heading to a tropical locale away from the prying eyes of the public, you've hired a team of jet-skiing bodyguards to patrol the area, and you're met with . . . the infamous Eva Longoria, staying mere steps from your private cabin, banging gongs and knocking on your door asking to borrow a cup of sugar and offering you marital aids from her vast private stash.  

For the past week or two all we heard about was the impending wedding of Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban. And we really didn't care. So what's changed now that they have officially become international superstar and househusband? Nothing really, but as that was really the only thing that happened over the weekend, we thought we'd suck it up for you, our wedding-obsessed wrapped-up-in-lace-with-a-bow-on-top super gay readers. Oh wait, our readers are pervy dirty old men who like to look at twenty-year-old celebrity nipples. Well, fuck, it's too late to find a new story now.  

You know that look Nicole Kidman always seems to have, the one that says, "I'm a frigid bitch with a stick up my ass, don't even try to make me smile because my botoxed face might crack"? Well, for now at least there's a reason behind that look: Girl's not getting laid.  

So Nicole Kidman is marrying outback troubador Keith Urban, and it seems the pair have stepped back into 1990 and booked Bette Midler to sing "Wind Beneath My Wings" at the ceremony. Afterwards, everyone will feast on an Olestra cake, talk about the collapse of the Soviet Union, and slip the shoulder pads out of their party dresses to do the Electric Slide.  

There's a chill in the air and the holidays are nearly upon us, so naturally celebrities are pairing off and trying to keep warm with marathon humping sessions. Hey, it's more practical than padding their bodies with a healthy layer of fat for insulation and risk landing only roles as the perpetually single friend of the slim and sexy star. We've got engagements between Nicole Kidman and a non-Kenny Chesney country star and Kimberly Stewart and some dude from some MTV show that our fourteen-year-old cousin really likes, Leonardo DiCaprio filling his Gisele void with some saggy Kirsten Dunst tit, and oh so much more.