At first, we thought it was the summer heat making us numb and irritable. But Us Weekly’s recent “Hollywood’s Hot Dads” cover, focused on the hot-as-lemonade Jason Priestley, confirmed that what we’re actually suffering from is crippling gossip ennui. Even the tabloids are deathly bored of the current crop of celebrity shenanigans.
Yes, yes. Socialites are in jail (or pregnant!), Britney keeps her kids out too late and is mean to her mother, and Lindsay Lohan will not be rehabilitated. So it’s not that we’re lacking in dramatic celebrity train wrecks; it’s just that the same trains are crashing over and over again, to the point where the carnage that used to fill us with delicious Schadenfreude now just makes us yawn and surf over to, say, soothing pictures of cakes and babies.
We cannot face another In Touch “exclusive” about Brad Pitt’s Secret Pain. Why, other than being at a loss for a fresh angle on Nicole Richie’s stomach, would Star magazine resort to cover lines about Valerie Bertinelli’s “diet disaster”? Does Star’s target demographic even know she’s famous for anything other than her new Jenny Craig commercials? Janice Min’s mag is slavishly giving weekly updates on a feud between two people on The Hills when it’s not patting Jessica Simpson on the back for bravely losing ten pounds and sneaking pictures of Paris back into its pages (talk about desperate measures ), and In Touch just broke news of its shock and alarm that Janet Jackson is resuming a cycle of yo-yo dieting that’s been going on for a decade. Anything, it seems, but having to dream up new spins on the same old melodrama.
So please, guys, if you’re rich, famous, and harboring a delicious secret, spill it. Reese Witherspoon, are you hankering to be a man? Katie, do you have any dish on whether Tom has a secret passion for arms dealing? Anyone want to publicly admit that Jennifer Lopez is hexing the reviewers who didn’t like El Cantante? Speak now; don’t forever hold your dirt. Think of us, and Us, and do the right thing. The Fug Girls