Give Leann Rimes’ rep the award for most ridiculous press statement that doesn’t actually address the major issue at hand. Rime’s rep released the following statement to US Magazine in response to allegations of homosexuality that were lobbed at Rime’s husband, Dean Sheremet, Friday morning on the Detroit Mojo Morning Radio show by someone named “Pebbles” (who claims to be Sheremet’s cousin):

Although Dean and LeAnn never knew they had a cousin named Pebbles, they are glad to hear that she has come out of the woodwork. Dean and LeAnn are also interested in connecting with their other long lost family members: Fred, Wilma, Barney and Bamm-Bamm. So Pebbles, please let us know if you have spoken to them, too.”

So there ya go. Suck it Pebbles….. and… the other several people who called in to support claims of Sheremet’s love of man meat.

Anyway, who can blame him? I like man meat. I bet a lot of you like man meat too. If I had the opportunity, what I’d like to tell Sheremet is that it’s okay to be gay. It is not, however, okay to be married to Leann Rimes.

As of the writing of this post, there’s still no official statement justifying  the video relased earlier this week of Rimes sucking on the figers of Eddie Cibrian outside a family diner. Maybe they just have really super delicious fried chicken?? That’s something I can “have faith” in: super delicious fried chicken and the fact that Leann licked more than Cibiran’s fingers.

Leave it to New Yorkers to honk at a departing hearse.

Saturday morning, a mahogany casket bearing the body of actress Natasha Richardson left the New York Townhouse where her wake had been held. Funeral arrangements have yet to be made, but they’re probably taking her to the funeral home. Having recently experienced a death in the family– where the viewing and funeral were both held in a church– I find it a bit weird to have a wake/viewing in someone’s townhouse. I’ve been to viewings in funeral homes and churches before, but never in someone’s house. I’m riddled with questions.

Does someone actually live in that town house? Or did they just rent it out for the wake? None of the news services say anything about whose home it is. I just can’t imagine having a dead body laid out in the living room right between the end tables and piles of old issues of Better Homes and Gardens.

Roberts on David Letterman, March 17th

Earlier in the week, Evil Beet posted some pics of Julia Roberts with what looked like strands of pinko hair peeking through her blonde layers. Sorry to disappoint those of you who thought it was a midlife crisis or a show of support for Breast Cancer Awareness month– which I could totally see some well-meaning but thoughtless celebrity doing. “Hey! Let’s all dye our hair pink in support of women with breast cancer… because they don’t have any! And pink is pretttttttty!” Instead of doing something really empathetic like getting massive hemhorrids or throwing up when you eat so much as two spoons full of chicken soup. There are celebrities that do that too, but I doubt it’s in support of breast cancer awareness.

Anyway, in her March 17th appearance on Late Night with David Letterman (see gallery), Julia confirmed that the pink strands were neither altruisitic nor a botched dye job; her daughter told her she should do it, so she did.

“Hazel thought I should,” a matter-of-fact Julia replied. “For someone who wants enthusiasm and support but perhaps less attention, I don’t think that having pink hair is the way to go…So I went for just a little bit.” While Hazel was pleased with the end result, her brother was even more enthusiastic! Reveals Julia,“Finn is crazy about it. He’ll stop people in the market. ‘Sir, sir. Look at my mommy’s hair!’”

Is there anything more adorable than a 4 year old boy named Phinnaeus using the word “sir?” I picture him wearing a three piece suit and doffing a hat to the passers by when he says it.

Like a buttercup in piss storm - two many shades of yellow

Former girl next door Kendra Wilkinson has posted some pictures of herself on her blog from back in the day when she really was a girl next door, aged 2 to about 12.

Now, who wouldn’t love looking at pics of Kendra when she was a cute little potbellied kid? When her clothes were stained with mysterious liquids dribbled out of sippy cups (and not old man penises) and any nudity was innocent, and didn’t come with a paycheck (or old man penises).

But I’m calling her out on her assertion that these baby pictures are “proof” that she is  “originally a NATURAL blonde”– a claim she feels she needs to make thanks to “all the blogs out there that are always calling [her] a fake blonde.”

First of all, being blonde when you’re age is still young enough to be tabulated in months rather than years does not give you the ability to claim that you are naturally blonde when you’re in your twenties. Kendra knows this, and is pretty much admitting that she’s not a natural blonde now by using the word “originally.”

Secondly… WHO FUCKING CARES?? Honestly, any controversy over whether or not a woman dyes her hair is so antiquated that it’s laughable. Just own up to dying your hair (like we all know you do) and maybe blogs will stop writing about it. (Yes, I realize the irony of the fact that I’m writing about it right now.)

If Kendra needs a controversy (to discuss or to defend) let’s talk about the fact that she played hot potato with a  pair of shriveled old man balls, passing them back and forth between two other women for years until finally the music stopped and she was out of the game

Seriously Kendra. Stop denying your roots. Kunta Kinte would be very disappointed..

Is there anything more odious than self-introduction? When I finished school, I thought I’d also be done with the humiliating process of standing up in front of a group of strangers, casting around for something “interesting” to say about myself and settling on inane (and slightly disturbing) things like, “I was born with an extra tooth and my sister was born missing one.” (True story btw).

But I guess it wouldn’t be right to just jump in here and start posting without at least saying hello and giving you some kind of idea of who or what I am. Feel free to completely skip this and just get back to reading posts about famous people (who never have to do self-introductions because they’re so famous). That’s what you’re here for, right?

Since I have to do this, I used the random word generator at watchout4snakes.com to get a list of words I could weave into a short (and very convoluted) self-introduction. Those words are:

pole
designer
anion
clupeid
preconize
shut
trash
clarify
clotted
delegated
rhubarb
inversely
scarce
quiet
preimbibed
friend
wording
slum

And yes, I had to look a few of those up. Here we go:

Since I’ll be taking over the weekend writer position, I thought it’d be a good idea to clarify the situation and preconize the changing of the weekend guard before the door fully swings shut on Soleil. I’ve been delegated as the newest member of the Evil Beet team, charged with carefully wording snarky posts that trash celebrities when they deserve it and occasionally praise them on those scarce occasions when they do right and don’t act like complete idiots with IQ’s that rival the Clupeid fish.

I live in Nashville, Tennessee, a once quiet city that has  grown at a rate inversely proportional to the quality of the local music scene. I’m a big nerd and  like to read things like Ken Jennings’ blog (he’ll write a post linking the discoverer of the anion to the child stars of Slum Dog Millionaire with less than six degrees of separation). But I make sure not to spend too much of my life in front of the computer, so that neither my conversation skills nor my complexion become clotted by too much exposure to monitor glare and not enough sunlight. I like to draw. I like the color chartreuse. I’m also a big hockey fan, and believe that the SEC is the only real conference in college football.

In terms of looks, I’m not hot enough (or ostentatious enough) to walk a runway for some haute couture designer or wrap myself nekkid around a stripper pole, but I get by. In fact, my friend Jessica suggested that my entire self-introduction should consist of, “I talk too much, but I’m cute, so it’s cool. Also, I have a nice rack. …please don’t hate me.”

I’m excited about becoming your new weekend dispenser for celebrity news shoved through a filter of sarcasm and acerbic wit. I promise to do my best to provide you with your fix, and promise not to preimbibe too much “writing juice” on Friday nights so you won’t have to wade through a string of posts that make about as much sense as Courtney Love’s Myspace blog.

It’s a pleasure to meet you.

Rhubarb.

As the big cheese around here, it’s my job to break it to you that our darling Soleil will no longer be posting on weekends. Weekend posting is a notoriously tough gig (just ask Wendie!), and Soleil did a fantastic job with it. She’s a remarkably talented writer, and her application for the position stood out to me right from the start. I know you guys got as many laughs out of her posts as I did, and I’m sad to see her go. She’s now on to bigger and better things in her professional life, and here at the Evil Beet we wish her all the best.

In happier news, I’m proud to announce that Ms. Kelly Hays will be coming on board for the weekends, starting immediately. Kelly is yet another exceptionally talented and funny writer, and I’m sure you guys will adore her, except for those of you who will bash her just because you always enjoy bashing the new kid. I’ll let Kelly introduce herself more thoroughly when she starts tomorrow morning. Try to be polite, children.

xoxo,
Beet