It’s ever since jail. Since she began playing the “reformed character” card. Maybe it’s all the Sunday School classes she’s been attending, early nights she’s been getting, or maybe she’s changed her hair.

Maybe its the drug-withered muscles in her neck, they can’t keep her great fat melon head from lolling. I don’t know, but I’m going to keep on watching. Nothing gets by me.

And maybe the bruises on her knees are from praying. Let’s not forget what Paris said on Larry King:

PARIS: I’ve always had a sense of spirituality, but even more so now after being in jail.
LARRY: Did you read the Bible in jail?
PARIS: Yes.

She read the Bible in jail. That’s right. She didn’t just tear it up for blunts. She read it. “In the begi…. begi…. begi… in the something God made hea… hea… something and earth.”

Jane Carrey, daughter of Jim, has had a tattoist get medieval on her ass: she’s got three lines of Latin between the shoulder blades -

The lines are:

Confutatis Maledictis,
Flammis Acribus Addictis:
Voca Me Cum Benedictis.

Which roughly translates as, “can you tell me where the nearest laser treatment center is?” I don’t like the tat. It makes her look like a scroll. That’s what I’d shout from behind the red rope. “Hey! Scroll! You look like a fucking scroll!” That’s what I’d shout.

So I hear that Michael Caine Jr has been seeing her again, for a little Fun with Dick and Jane. I can see why. I’d hit it. She’s in that ‘trying to be nasty’, don’t tell daddy, Angelina-lite phase that I’m forever stuck in. Check her handbag – toys, chains and a wrap.

Rumer Willis, our favourite genetic experiment gone wrong (how did those genes not fit right?) is in danger, and not just from the Face Police. She’s got the whole Franklin clan up in arms after she unceremoniously dumped Aretha’s favourite nephew, Franklin Franklin, for Diana Ross’s son Evan, who by the way is fourteen kinds of droopy-eyed, weed-brained, puppydog hot:

Aretha’s going to eat her when she finds out. Toss her bones out of the car window and burp. It’s as simple as that. There’s no corner of Motown he can hide from Auntie Ree when she comes looking for her fug ass.

Franklin has already found out. He’s still not 100% ok in the brain after the electro-shock, and he was asked to move on by police after standing outside Rumer’s apartment holding this sign:

I feel sorry for Franklin. Something’s not right upstairs. Normally I don’t care about that kind of shit but Franklin kind of scares me. He’s the kind of guy who watches you sleep. From a rocking chair next to the bed.

No one in the history of teenage alcoholism and sunbed abuse has ever aged as badly as Lindsay Lohan. Poor girl. She’s only 21 and already she’s nudging 50. She’s got crow’s feet the size of chicken drummers.

Bigger glasses! Get me bigger glasses!

Ironically, the feeling you get when you see her is “she looks good for her age”, then you realise she’s a third of the age you were reckoning. She’s so badly preserved that she looks “well preserved”. Sharon Stone must look at her and think: there but for the grace of God.

She’s strapped herself to the age bull and she’s not letting go. In a bored moment (between naps) I plotted her plummet into disrepair:

That graph makes for sad reading unless you don’t care about Lindsay Lohan in which case that would be all of us.

Here is Lindsay coming out of a door behind someone else who also thinks black leggings are slimming:

“You too can go straight from aerobics to a funeral! Just $2.99 for a pack of 6.”

Get that shirt off! Toss it in the pool! Matt McConaughey is celebrating tonight, happy and shirtless, having won the part of Mr Incredible in the new live-action remake of the 2004 cartoon. There’ll be a party down in Austin tonight, yessir, and a delighted Matthew will be popping open the rentboys champagne.

It’s a perfect fit. Pumped up, 2 dimensional, and gets his fug face covered with a mask. Looking at that pic, I think it’s Matt’s chin that won it. Seriously, you could launch a lifeboat off that chin – although I’d sooner just drive over it with a Buick.

Pumped as he is, rumour has it that Matt invested in $30,000 pectoral implants to secure the role. That’s nasty. Still, not the first time he’s felt a prick and blinked back the tears to get a job. (And by “prick”, of course, I mean penis”).

Jesus – I’m just thinking – The Incredibles was in 2004? as long ago as that? what took them so long to remake it? and when’s the cartoon remake of the live-action remake scheduled?

Scientists have finally got their act together, set aside their cancer treatments and protype AIDS vaccines, and got on with the serious business of determining the new scale of hotness.

How it works is simple, there are three basic levels of hotness:

i) NOT HOT

ii) HOT

iii) TOTALLY HOT

They are defined as follows: NOT HOT is everyone or everything which hotter than Peter Hitchens (the absolute zero of hotness) but less hot than post-surgery Meg Ryan. HOT is everything which is as hot or more hot than post-surgery Meg Ryan, but not as hot as pre-Airwolf Jan-Michael Vincent (who is TOTALLY HOT):

Note: as with temperature, there is no absolute maxium of hotness. Absolute hotness is a myth. A lie. There is always going to be someone hotter round the corner in a sauna corridor. I love my work!

Fun as it is to watch video footage of Donna Bon Jovi speeding away from the LAPD, last night we were given a glimpse of our favourite rock chick’s vulnerable side: TMZ’s exclusive footage of DBJ eating 4 tubes of lipgloss in the restroom whilst in New York for a stolen weekend with oil heir Brandon Davis.

Donna was caught on camera staring at herself in the mirror, yammering:

Piece of shit. Useless. Hollow. Eat something.

Whereupon the troubled starlet squeezed a whole tube of fruit-flavored product into the back of her mouth. When asked by the reporter if she was okay, Donna locked herself in a cubicle, yelling:

I’m sober. Totally fucking sober…

But viewers could see 3 squeezed-out tubes of raspberry-flavor Lancome lip lube on the bathroom floor. Added to the tube in her fist, that’s 4. And 4 is a lot of lube for pair of lips – even Donna’s.

The last year has been pretty tough for DBJ who checked into rehab fourteen times after failing to secure a record deal. We wish her the best. Stay healthy Donna! Oh and keep away from Brandon, or Paris will take a swing at you with the zircon encrusted Sidekick our spies saw her snagging at last night’s launch.

Poor Bruno. Unceremoniously dumped by Shakira, snapped naked on Jay-Z’s yacht – his head’s in a spin, and his car’s in the wrecking yard.

A reader submits this report of possibly intoxicated Ferrari-lamping Bruno Iglesias’s whereabouts before last night’s much-publicized thrill ride:

I was on the way to the MUSE concert at the Greek Theater on Wed 7/19. (MUSE *rock!*) I took a left out of Hillhurst past Franklin’s on Franklin Av. Spotted Bruno Iglesias looking agitated, talking into his mobile. Then an Oldsmobile pulls up alongside him, Bruno gets straight in, and his head disappears under the dash. That’s all I got before the lights changed. He didn’t seem drunk, just a bit edgy.

Of course, all this report really tells us is that Iglesias could have been anxious about hooking up with some girl (?) – unless of course his agitation was of the Columbian variety.

Jessica Schweppes was seen out with a brand new mystery pooch after her old fav was slain by reality star Bongo Zappa:

Fresh from the pet-store: only 3 days after the death of her beloved Chihuahua, Beethoven, Jess Schweppes has been seen lunching with a new toy. Celeb lap dog Beethoven was crushed Tuesday under the wheels of a Monster Truck during a set-up for Bongo Zappa’s new celebrity gotcha show Fuck You!

The troubled soft drinks heiress, Jessica Schweppes, was seen by Us Weekly threatening to sue Zappa for “ten billion ” but the pair were later seen leaving the Viper Room together and stumbling into Zappa’s Hummer. According to US Weekly:

Schweppes looked like she’d been crying. Her make-up was smeared and her mobile phone was caught in her thong.

Schweppes seems to have gotten over the grief, and has upgraded her dog to the hot new breed called the ‘Teacup Chihuaha’ – the smallest dogs on the planet. Sandra Kane from The Chihuahua Store tells us:

They make great pets, but do suffer from bladder problems.

So… should be the perfect match for Schweppes. Sorry Jess, we love ya!! – and remember, everyone has lost control after too much booze. It’s just a pity it happened to you on the Big Wheel at a fairground.