What on earth has happened to K-Fed? There’s such a thing as being comfortable but this is taking it waaay too far!

Check out Britney’s ex eating out - I know, right? - at a mexican restaurant with his slim, blonde girlfriend Tuesday afternoon. You know he got tacos and quesadillas when really he shoulda just gotten a salad!
Or maybe it’s just the oversize shirt? Nah, it’s not.

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Pete Wentz’s babymama Ashlee Simpson visited a medical building in LA yesterday afternoon and we’re happy to report that the 24-year-old looks back in fine form after giving birth. Think she’s a good mom to baby Bronx? The kid might hate his name, but you know he loves her!
I kinda want her to go back to blonde now…

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…but when we snapped Sienna Miller at LAX last night, she looked pretty good!

Sure, she’s a homewrecker and she can be a total b*tch with photogs, but she’s undeniably gorgeous, and any girl who can step off a plane and look this fab (without foundation and eyeliner, mind you!) gets a gold star in my book.

Yes, I am actually praising Sienna for once!

Yeah, she’s a little shiny/greasy, but who isn’t after sitting on a plane for a few hours?

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Well this is a little alarming!

These pix above are from yesterday afternoon, but earlier this morning the back window of the OctoMom’s minivan was smashed in… and so she didn’t take her kids to school. (There was broken glass all over the seat.)

Not cool! Just because someone doesn’t like this woman, does that give them the right to vandalize her car?

Still, couldn’t Nadya find some way to get her kids to school? I dunno if this is a good enough excuse to take the day off!

Right now the OctoMom is at a park nearby her home and “smiling” about the incident - she doesn’t seem to be traumatized at all!

Pix and vid coming soon!!!
Crazy morning!

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UGH! Why does Khloe Kardashian insist on insulting my eyes like this! If her little black shirt was a little (slightly longer) black dress, I would have been willing to give her a B-plus on this outfit, but this is just ridiculous.

Khloe honey, we don’t want to see your cooter, even if it is covered up in black spandex. So please, tag along with your fashion minded sister Kim next time she goes shopping, and pick out some decent clothes!
On the bright side, at least she’s wearing leggings! Can you imagine the horror if she was just wearing a pair of pantyhose or *shudder* no tights at all?

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Talk about giving great face er, b*tch face! The Lohan sisters totally have it down pat!

We spotted the girls at Siren Studios yesterday (after like, five clothing changes), and they showed off their wide range of facial expressions as they hopped out of their chauffeured car.

Instead of posing for photo shoots, we’d rather see the Lohan girls get their own reality show! Ali should move to Hollywood, live with Lindsay, and let cameras document all the drama. It would get killer ratings, Lindsay would rake in some extra dough, Ali would become even more famous than she already is, and it would even give them a chance to set the record straight. We’re sure Lindsay has been offered her own reality show hundreds of times, but she should really rethink things!

P.S. Check out the video below to watch Lindsay’s bodyguard call the photogs a bunch of “little girls” - so hilarious!

Would you watch a Lindsay/Ali reality show?

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ETA: Take notes, Milli-blond!

1, 2

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A month after his split with Jennifer Aniston, John Mayer has debuted a new song called “Heartbreak Warfare.”

Aniston, 40, isn’t mentioned by name in the new track, which features the chorus, “If you want more love, Why don’t you say so?” and lyrics including: “Drop his name, push it in and twist the knife again; Watch my face as I pretend to feel no pain, pain, pain.”

In an audio clip posted on YouTube, Mayer, 31, tells the audience on his Mayercraft Carrier 2 cruise that he plans to record the track in mid-April for his upcoming CD Battle Studies.

“The concept of the album is the war of love – the art of war of love,” Mayer explained to the crowd. “Sometimes instead of saying ‘I love you,’ people can’t recognize that. They recognize how much you come to their aid when they are in pain.”

“I am a positivity man,” he continued. “Sometimes people try to recognize love in terms of negativity. When you are in that situation, that is not a lot of fun.”

Now that his fan cruise to Mexico is over, Mayer is heading back to the recording studio – a leased home in L.A.’s San Fernando Valley. “I gave myself a nine to five,” he recently told PEOPLE. “I’m making myself wake up and be a writer. It’s great.”

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In response to this post: http://community.livejournal.com/ohnotheydidnt/33718591.html about being all tight-lipped and stuff, thus leaving me to stfu.

Today I popped along to the protests seduced by nostalgia as much as any legitimate intention to change the world, for you see there was a time that within the truculent mass was where I was at my most happy.

The first protest I attended, I think by accident – I was too high to truly engage in activism, was the Liverpool Dockers protest in 1997. I was lured from a humid underground carriage into a furore of ricocheting protesters and mounted coppers. To me, that day, adolescent and in perpetual internal revolution, the spectacle of a horse galloping up Charring Cross could only have been trumped by the presence of a marauding dinosaur piddling up Nelson’s Column. It was exiting. Afterwards I learned about the circumstances of the protest and the poor treatment of the Unions but my interest was initially piqued by the chaos.

From then I nurtured my curiosity in activism, too personally ambitious to be completely submerged in a culture that eschewed the pursuit of personal stardom but sufficiently idealistic and enamoured of agitation to become hooked.

On Mayday 2001 I found a way to align my attention seeking with the anti-capitalist movement when I stripped off in Piccadilly Circus on the steps of the statue of Eros until, at the point of total nudity, with my Che Guevara Y-fronts about my ankles the Metropolitan Police Force did the decent thing and nicked me. My incentive that day was a combination of youthful idealism and personal exhibitionism – although as exhibitions go it was a bit rubbish until the point I was arrested. It was a striptease with all the erotic appeal of a frazzled bachelor undressing for a prostate exam with the deluded hope that a student nurse might think him a bit beefy.

Once the police folded in around me though the show developed momentum. I was dragged off, feigning an epileptic fit – a tip I’d likely acquired from a leaflet off an anarchist while a crafty plod surreptitiously issued clandestine pinches to my twitching body.

The sincere aspect of my attendance to these carnivals of disobedience is my instinctive mistrust of authority and innate belief that whilst we are different we are all equal and have a social culpability to care for every member of our society. That, ultimately we are one, that separation is an illusion and that none of us can be content as long as there is neglect and suffering among the weaker of our number.

The distinction between the man I am now and the giddy hedonistic whirling slash of febrile discontentment I was the last time I was flung in the back of a police vehicle is two-fold and obvious; firstly, I no longer drink or take drugs and secondly, I am now famous.

On approaching Threadneedle Street I heard the numinous roar. The concerto that’s unthinkingly composed wherever the rowdy congregate, a chant that would be animal but for its wordless articulacy, for no congregation of beasts can emit such raucous harmony. As I met the throng, the incongruous mass that occupied the Square Mile – making it, for once a Hip Mile, I breathed in the banners and chants and the sweet youthful purpose that prevailed from those present regardless of their age – the Sixties refugees all tie-dye and ganja seem younger somehow than the black-block adolescents in their secular hijabs of hoods and scarves.

Brief though the moment was as for every protester now there is an attendant news crew and photographer – I know I had one – but at the Bank of England at noon we were all Puff Daddy – Limos, demos and bimbos replaced with ASBO’s, DEMOS and symbols and as I sought to subtly submerge myself into my former home – the crowd, I was suddenly clad in a full media jacket, like I was the prettiest girl at the ball and I’d just popped a cigarillo between my perfect lips and instantly the air around me is ablaze with Zippos. But instead of flames it was all flash bulbs and microphones and on-the-scene reporters.

An antagonistic prig from Sky ushered me towards his prerequisite idiocy – “You’re live on Sky – what are you angry about?” In my mind I answered “Well primarily being live on Sky and needing a wee.” But I issued naught from my gullet as I didn’t fancy the gig. I overheard him finishing his clunking link “Russell Brand there – unusually tight lipped” in that moment I wished for a language that could incorporate micturation then I’d’ve delivered a streaming gold quotation right into his smug-dish – “there! Cop for that, there’s my opinion splashing across yer brow – I only wish I still ate Sugar Puffs.”

I’ve spent so long trying to distinguish myself from the crowd that now I cannot rejoin it. Except at Upton Park; when the Hammers roll out they’re the only show in town, I could stand in the Chicken Run noshing off Whitney Houston on a Wednesday night against Stoke and no one would mutter a word unless her flailing limbs obscured a corner but today on the precipice of a riot I could not take a step without incessantly legitimising my presence to the inquisitive pack.

Well here it is. Capitalism has failed us. All of us, even people who’ve recently become well off, like me. The system has failed because it’s created disparity and discontent because it is devouring the planet. It is irresponsible and unaccountable and it will forever cyclically fail so we need to look at an alternative.

I’m sure you won’t be astonished to learn that I, Russell Brand, the stand-up comedian have not dreamt up a viable replacement for the Free Market between gigs and joyless trysts but I know all over the world, in the face of incredible obstruction and resistance, people are inaugurating economic systems that are founded on fairness and egalitarianism. Worker run factories, villages without currency and even in Blighty, council estates bulk buying shopping to make benefits go further.

With the support of central government and an accompanying ideology that encouraged collectivism imagine what we could conjure.

This lovely French journalist harangued me as the conflagration heated up – “people over there are being arrested – you should go over and use your fame for good.” Quite. “By the power vested in me by Big Brother’s Big Mouth I command you to release that anarchist.” Of course I’d like to harness my celebrity for altruistic ends but in the field, at that moment I don’t know what legislative authority I have as a result of my appearance in the film “Forgetting Sarah Marshall”. “Officer – I played the part of Mickey the Room Service waiter in the Disney movie Bedtime Stories and as such I command you to let us cross this line”.

Interaction with the police is another troubling aspect of these affairs. Once pressed against the thin blue line in the white heat of a Reclaim The Streets conflict I observed that the accents formed behind the plastic shields and helmets were far more familiar to me than the ones muffled by bandanas. Today I met a Peeler who stopped me as I passed to tell me that he was called Russell and came from Grays in Essex, where I’m from. I squeezed his shoulder in acknowledgement and noted that beneath his uniform he wore body armour like a chunky thick Toblerone between us and I felt worried for the poor fella.

Then there was the other type of policeman that we all know and love, that arbitrarily used his power for a momentary personal buzz and denied me the right to cross a line to use a loo while others freely wandered through, his decision based on a mechanism that I could not perceive as it whirred and clicked in prejudicial bliss beneath his badge. So the Met today in my experience presented one affable chap and one twit which is pretty good odds in a tricky situation.

In the end I prematurely departed, unable to find a place, too conspicuous for the crowd with people wanting interviews and autographs so I left and felt a pang for the anonymous loony I was, the sweet and tender hooligan and inveterate show off who saw these days as a valve for all the maladies accrued up till then.

These protests are important, it thrills me to see people putting aside the relentless tyranny of the self and acknowledging in action community and oneness but more significant will be the umpteen Wednesdays to come, where no direct action is prescribed, a continuing process of change based on simple spiritual principles, more than an outlet for our rage we need a structure for our love.

Tolstoy said everyone speaks of changing the world but no one speaks of changing themselves, ironically given my Olympian solipsism, I am going to have to focus further on myself, on becoming an individual worthy of utopia then, regardless of my notoriety, I will be equipped to participate in our revolution.

Source: russellbrand.tv
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Whitney Port certainly doesn’t come across as a crybaby. She arrives for her Cosmo interview lunch looking totally chic, dressed in blue velvet leggings, a bouclé Mossimo cardigan, and slouchy chestnut brown Diesel boots. Plus, she just seems so damn approachable, so comfortable with herself. In fact, according to Adam DiVello, creator and executive producer of MTV’s The Hills and The City, her easy likability was a major factor in his giving Whitney, 24, her very own reality series.
But Whitney has a little confession to make. As much as she enjoys certain aspects of her life on The City, there are moments when being a reality star makes her want to bawl. “I break down a couple of times a week, at least,” she admits, rolling her almond-shaped brown eyes and then letting out a sigh. “It gets overwhelming. Sometimes I think that I can’t take this anymore. I just want to live a normal life.”

Get the rest of Whitney’s interview in the May issue of Cosmo, on stands April 8!

Source:www.cosmopolitan.com/celebrities/exclusive/whitney-port-cover-interview

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