That cigarette.

The one on that dusty-ass table. With the wilting flowers.

Right after she gets her boots on.

Chalk it up as yet another cylindrical object Britney Spears shouldn’t have put in her mouth.

Ummmmm….

Didn’t Elliott Yamin release a semi-successful album last year?

So could someone please explain to me why he’s at Mel’s Diner “surprising” the unsuspecting children who showed up to the Oscar Mayer “Sing the Jingle, Be a Star” contest?

Okay, so, to answer my question, I — for the first time in my “journalistic” career — did some research. And by “research” I mean I typed the words “oscar mayer sing the jingle” into Google and clicked the first item that came up. It turns out AmIdol is co-sponsoring this contest, so Elliott was probably contractually obligated to be there.

I spent the subsequent twenty minutes of the life I only get to live once watching submitted videos on the contest website. It’s addictive. My favorite is the three adult women singing while reading the lyrics from a crib sheet. Like, really? You don’t know the Oscar Mayer Weiner song by heart? I mean, okay, fine, let’s allow for the distant, distant possibility that you somehow haven’t already heard it 80,000 times over the course of your life. But you’re now going to be singing it. On camera. For national distribution. And the song is four lines long. I mean, honestly, how little faith do you have in your own intelligence? These women should not be allowed to procreate. And if they do have children, the state should take them away. These women will never get them back. They’ll show up at Social Services all like “I’d like my kid back” and the receptionist will be all like “Okay, what’s your kid’s name?” and they’ll be all like, “Uhhhh. Shoot. I wrote it down somewhere.”

Geez.

Here’s some dumbass video Steve-O made after he got out of jail earlier in the month.

He claims he’s sober, but you can actually see the cocaine up his nose.

That’s hot.

Steve-O is currently in the psych ward at Cedars-Sinai, and was charged on Thursday with felony cocaine possession.

You’re so cool, dude. I wish I were cool like you.

Here’s my precious Christina Ricci at some boring event in Las Vegas.

I love the dress, but her face looks weird lately. Like she’s had some work done or something. I’m not sure.

Just tell the cops you were aiming at her new haircut. They’ll understand.

Paris did a little press conference tonight for her new reality show, My New BFF, where I guess she’ll be on the hunt for young women who want to be her friend because they care about who she really is deep down inside, and obviously the best pool from which to choose such a person is the group of girls who volunteer to be on her ridiculous reality TV show. If Paris wants a friend who cares about who she really is, she needs to, like, go to Antarctica and befriend a penguin. Because no one else on earth is going to see her as anything but Paris Hilton Incorporated.

And speaking of people who know Paris deep down inside, she’s still tugging around little Benji Madden, and sporting that dumbass ring with his initials on it.

This is a stupid Paris Hilton romance. I like it better when she plucks super-hot nobodies out of obscurity and we can all just marvel at their toolishness and hotness for awhile, until she dumps them. Speaking of which, whatever happened to that Pizza Boy? Isn’t it about time he sells a tell-all? And then reports directly to my bedroom? I think yes.