She may have gotten to kiss Brad Pitt at the ripe old age of 10, but I feel like Kirsten has really drawn the short straw in Hollywood society. You make one Elizabethtown and it’s like you drowned Jon Hamm’s puppy or something. Hey, everyone: leave my favorite snaggle-toothed hipster sunbeam alone, would you? While I’m glad she’s having a little comeback moment after winning Best Actress at Cannes for Melancholia, even then her own director couldn’t help trying to blow her candle out by claiming he was a Nazi sympathizer WHILE SITTING NEXT TO HER at a press conference. Clearly, his gaffe about his Hitler love was a poorly masked conspiracy just to thwart her success. At any rate, Kiki and I go way back — I’m talking well beyond the Bring It On cheertatorship here. Hello, I mean non-Oscar contender Crazy/Beautiful!? Kirsten may have looked like a swamp rat doused in vaseline the entire movie, but she was my swamp rat. I wouldn’t have wanted her any other way. Except, you know, maybe a tiny bit cleaner. Just kidding girl, love ya!
Our pretty-boy pal Paul doesn’t need much defending, but if any doubters come a-knockin’ I will be there with an aluminum baseball bat. OK, maybe that’s a little intense — more likely a baseball bat-worth of strongly-worded dissent. Ever since he looked past his vaguely incestuous/cradle-robbing urges and got with his step-sister in the sleeper art-house flick Clueless, I’ve wanted to get ruddy with Rudd, if you know what I’m sayin’ (and if you do, kindly enlighten me…). His adorable, game-for-anything attitude, those twinkly blue eyes, the fact he’s looked 20 years old for about 30 years, Paul can do no wrong for me (except that his name is, in fact, Paul, which is questionably sexy at best). I would make out in an inner tube with him even if he tasted like a burger. Probably especially if he did. This is a judge-free zone, right?
I know T. Swizzle (as her true fans call her) may be the picture of curly-haired innocence, but we all know what homegirl is actually lacking: a solid lay. What is UP with these effeminate losers who orbit around her like she’s just some publicity tool for them to deny their latent homosexuality??? (I mean, except that she is). Taylor is too babin’ for that bunk. I mean, girl has won six Grammy’s, 10 AMA’s and THREE Kids’ Choice Awards by the age of 22. That’s enough orange blimps for one and a half bookends, people! I’ll admit, I wasn’t born singing “You Belong With Me” straight out of the womb (probably because Taylor would still be a jammin’ lil fetus for another month) but mid-college I was converted to the wonders of belting out “Fifteen” as a 21-year-old. That poor Abigail. When Taylor wrote “We both cried,” I’m pretty sure she was referring to me and my gay BFF. Tears of adoration. Or of too much tequila. Probably both.
Nicolas Cage is my favorite questionably-psychotic undeniably-delusional famous person. The best thing about Nicolas Kim (hopefully as in Kimberly) Cage is that he makes me feel infinitely better about my destructive shopaholic tendencies. The guilt I feel for spending half my paycheck on mandatory things like edible glitter probably doesn’t compare to the regret Nic has for his casual acquisition of a few castles, 22 luxury cars and A DINOSAUR SKULL. NBD IRS, Nic can just make another 12 movies in six months where he casts spells, easily switches faces with John Travolta and runs around New York City for two hours shouting “I’m a vampire!” Boom, another $10 million smackaroos for maintaining Cage’s Concubine, his private pleasure theme park on his top-secret island that I just made up. He is untouchable. Plus, being the creative mastermind he is, Nic named his son Kal-El, after…wait for it…Superman. No chance of that kid getting made fun of for being a little pansy in middle school by cool kids Apple, Suri and Pilot Inspektor. Can I get an a-men for the fruitcakes?
Just kidding, anyone who defends Mel Gibson should burn in a fiery pit of matzoh balls.