Me: Oh, hi there. Strange running into you here. So, it seems like you really like The Evil Beet.

Spammer: Very interesting. Great resource. Thanks you much. Rape porn! Christian debt relief! Gourmet food baskets!

Me: Gosh, thanks. That means a lot. See, sometimes I feel like the information we provide here is a little bit shallow, you know? Like we’re more an aggregator than a genuine content generator. But you genuinely like it?

Spammer: Great site! Hope it will always be alive! I will tell all my friends about your site. Incest porn! Floor tiles! Bankruptcy attorneys!

Me: Okay, but I get concerned about the blog format. Maybe we should have it organized in a more traditional format, so visitors can easily find the information they’re looking for. I used to have a set of categories along the right-hand column, but the PHP script I was running seemed to use a lot of CPU resources and would occasionally lead to down time, so I took it off.

Spammer: Great site! Easy to navigate. I will return with soon. Replica Rolex watches! Bubble butts! Bed Bath and Beyond! Cheetos.

Me: That’s so reassuring. Because I’m basically like this girl who dropped out of high school and had a teensy weensy substance abuse problem for like ten years but in the midst of all of it I figured out how to use a computer and then I set this thing up so I could talk shit about celebrities and the whole world could hear all the funny thoughts I think that I used to wish the whole world could hear, but I look at all those sites out there being run by web development experts, and I get concerned that this thing just looks like a grossly amateurish effort.

Spammer: The site’s very professional! Great design! Keep up the good work! Hair loss solution! Free spyware! Father son porn. Russian horny woman.

Me: So do you feel as though I’ve effectively differentiated this blog? There’s so much competition in this space, and we’re all essentially reporting the same news, and lots of the other writers are smart and funny and knowledgeable, too.

Spammer: Good site – you’re a pretty good writer. I have been looking for sites like this for a long time. Thank you! Sexy boobs. Black boobs. Baby got boobs. Naked boobs. Teen boobs. Duran Duran.

Me: What would you say is your favorite part of The Evil Beet?

Spammer: Cool guestbook… Hairy teen. Pink teen. Hot teen ass. Naturalist teen.

Me: Naturalist teen?

Spammer: Yeah.

Me: Really?

Spammer: Yeah.

Me: God.

Spammer: I know.

[Jump in for the rest!]

(more…)

And, frankly, it’s not a bad album.

My December was released in the U.S. on Tuesday, and I finally had some time tonight to sit down and give it a listen. I had that time because I was waiting for utorrent to finish downloading Live Free or Die Hard onto my computer baking a cake for my grandma. Anyway, despite the heavily publicized battle between Clarkson and RCA crypt-keeper Clive Davis, the album is already #1 on the U.S. and Canadian iTunes charts (in fact, the NY Post even suggests that battle was just “manufactured edge”) and will probably debut at #1 on the U.S. charts next week.

So the album? It’s not my favorite of the Clarkson offerings, and it’s certainly less catchy than most of what you’ll find on Breakaway or Thankful, but it’s angry, it’s empowered, and it’s grown-up, and I’ll take that Kelly Clarkson over the one who was singing “I hate myself for losing you” on the previous album. I liked “Never Again” from the start, “Sober,” is, ironically, quite addictive, and the bonus track “Irvine” is both chilling and warm. Critical response has been lukewarm, and rightly so, but Kelly has a strong fan base and a good reputation in the industry, and I hope she ends up on top.

The “Don’t Say Goodbye” Latina powerhouse took Vegas by storm on Friday night, performing at the Palms in a gold “dress” I’d probably be more likely to call a “blouse” and pair with, you know, pants. But she looks ridiculously hot. Like, as a totally heterosexual woman, even I kind of want to go up on stage and touch her legs. Enjoy the up-skirts, kids.

Now that we’ve solved the Mystery of the Illness So Rare and Lethal Even the Very Best Doctors at Lynwood Correctional Facility Were Helpless in the Face of It (it was claustrophobia, and it turns out the elusive cure is to “deal with it“), we can move on to solving a new mystery: what the hell were the papers Britney Spears delivered to her mother yesterday?

Yesterday, Britney found yet another good use for the hordes of photographers who last year were helpful enough to support her dream of having her vagina invade more homes than any of her albums, when she used them to learn the whereabouts of her rehab-enabling mother.

Britney had tracked down her mom with the help of the paparazzi who are never far from her side.

The singer’s bodyguards had asked some of the fotogs who camp outside her Beverly Hills home if they knew the whereabouts of Lynne Spears.

When the shutterbugs said the elder Spears was holed up nearly an hour away at a TV studio in Valencia, the singer grabbed her two kids – Sean Preston, 21 months, and Jayden James, 9 months – and hit the road in her Mercedes.

After arriving in Valencia, Britney served her mother with a set of papers.

What were those papers? Word on the street is they were a strongly worded letter urging her mother to stay away from her two children. Other sources claim they were an actual restraining order, but, if that were the case, Britney could not have served them herself, and an L.A. Superior Court spokeswoman claims they have no such order on record from Spears.

You can check out video of Britney serving the papers to her mom here.

It’s like this guy is on auto-destruct.

After being unceremoniously dismissed from the friendly set of Grey’s Anatomy, Isaiah Washington continues to remind us that he’s still “mad as hell.” Mad like a hatter, folks. Totally batshit.

First and foremost, Isaiah opens our eyes to the sad reality that there is no such thing as Promises: Homophobia Edition, where otherwise well-adjusted men with an uncontrollable need to occasionally call other people faggots sit around in a circle and admit that they are powerless over same-sex anal penetration.

“There is no rehab for homophobia—that was just some crap being put out by the network,” he says. “I went into an executive counseling program which many people in this industry know about and go to. They knew what the program was but chose to call it what they wanted to fit their agenda.”

And if you, like me, have been kept up at night worrying that Washington would somehow manage to complete this career free-fall without once attempting to hold up the race card as a makeshift parachute, you can sleep again.

“Well, it didn’t help me on the set that I was a black man who wasn’t a mush-mouth Negro walking around with his head in his hands all the time. I didn’t speak like I’d just left the plantation and that can be a problem for people sometime,” he says.

“I had a person in human resources tell me after this thing played out that ’some people’ were afraid of me around the studio. I asked her why, because I’m a 6-foot-1, black man with dark skin and who doesn’t go around saying ‘Yessah, massa sir’ and ‘No sir, massa’ to everyone?”

In other news, when fellow black, dark-skinned castmates Chandra Wilson and James Pickens, Jr. were asked to comment on whether they felt ABC had handled the situation appropriately, they responded, “Yessah, massa sir. Kin we go back outsahd in’ git back to our cotton now?”

Kim Kardashian leaving Koi yesterday.

Photo credit: BuzzFoto

Paris goes to Maui. [The Blemish]

Lily Allen got arrested for assaulting a photog. [A Socialite's Life]

The Chris Benoit case keeps getting weirder. [Celebrity Smack]

George Michael doesn’t really care if he gives you HIV. [Celebitchy]

Shar Jackson is soooo not pregnant. [SOW]

Britney Spears serves her mom with legal papers. [IBBB]

Jennifer Lopez is totally the hottest golfer ever. [The Grumpiest]