Clay Aiken receives his caricature at Sardi’s in NYC.

OMG.

So many jokes, so little time.

This would be such a sweet and wonderful thing if their last names were anything but what they are.

Comedian and actor Jay Mohr filed a petition a week ago to legally add his wife’s surname to his own, thereby making his full appellation Jon (his birth name) Ferguson Cox Mohr. Jay married actress Nikki Cox two years ago.

I’d be snarkier about this, but right now I’m just terribly relieved for any two people who are in love and both aging in the same direction.

A select few of us lucky gossip bloggers received this email tonight. It was from Michael Lohan, announcing the launch of his new blog, Mike Lohan Online. This blog is a fantastic idea, because now Michael Lohan can just skip the middleman of the New York Post or InTouch and just publicly talk shit about his daughter whenever he feels the urge. Evil has gone digital! This is an excerpt from his first post:

Today, on TMZ, my darling daughter Lindsay was asked for a comment in response to me saying, “Samantha is on drugs!”

Lindsay’s only response was, “look at him!”

WOW! Linds, how forthright! Let me ask you; was it me who was actually pictured in the train station with a bag full of prescription drugs? Do you see me out partying with Lindsay, my other children or having raging wars with her? Was it me who jumped out of a DJ booth and punched Lindsay when she was with Calum Best? Did I drive Lindsay around for hours in LA until she fell asleep and before I ran low on gas only to call the paps and sell pictures to them? Uh uh!

As a matter of fact, I was the one who tried to keep those kinds of parasites away from Lindsay. Like the psycho stalker “AJ’s,” the parasite publicist, the wanna be manager(s), the backstabbing bodyguards, and the not so helpful assistants and the in-laws from hell who spend their time getting high and robbing the victims of the 911 disaster relief fund.

No, not me, nor my family!

Sure, I made mistakes, but I righted the wrongs. I continue to hold myself accountable for everything I did and continue to do! I speak the truth! I love God and I love people who speak and know the truth!

NONE of us are perfect, but we should strive to be as perfect as we can. Don’t use people, don’t lie about people, don’t bare false witness, don’t be envious or jealous and certainly don’t LIE!

Remember, God is the TRUTH (John 14:6) and the devil is a liar (John 8:44). So you have two choices, represent God (the Truth) or the devil (a liar).

I pray pray pray for Lindsay’s sake that this shit is a joke that someone is playing on her. I pray that this is not actually her fucking father doing this to her. Because if this is the man who was supposed to be her fucking male role model, I am impressed, Lindsay, that you turned out as well as you did. You have a lot to be proud of, young lady.

And, Dad? I love you, and thank you thank you thank you for not really knowing how to use a computer, let alone start a blog to talk shit about me, and then notify all the major gossip columnists about its existence.

This is utter insanity. How could he do this to his own flesh and blood? It’s unthinkable. It’s classless. It’s cruel. It’s embarrassing. Lindsay, hang in there, baby. Every time he pulls this shit, we root for you a little harder.

Hi guys. Right now, I feel like I just left a funeral, where I broke up with my boyfriend, and then the hearse ran over my dog. In reality, I just got back from seeing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, which should just be called Horrible Emotional Trauma: The Movie. The running time of the film is 159 minutes. I was crying for about 150 of those minutes. And six of the remaining minutes I spent in the bathroom. So we’re looking at like three tear-less minutes there. And I’m not talking, like, a single poignant tear running down my cheek — I’m talking, like, sobbing my eyes out and wiping my face with the popcorn napkin. It was awful.

Plus I was with a guy friend who I think was just totally mortified to be seen with me, and appalled at the thought that anyone might mistakenly think that this blubbering shit-show was his girlfriend. It was all-around just awful. Awful, awful, awful. I thought I was going to see some cute little romantic flick with some tender moments and a shirtless Brad Pitt, but no. It was three straight hours of tugging at my heartstrings. No, that doesn’t do it justice. It doesn’t tug at your heartstrings. It systematically attaches your heartstrings to a fucking snow plow and then sends the whole mess down the side of a mountain. Horrible, horrible, horrible. The last time I cried that hard for that long they tried to put me in a psych ward. You think I’m joking. Seriously make sure you’re in stable emotional condition before seeing this film. It put my ass through the ringer. Still: better than seeing Valkyrie.

Okay, so I’m too sick to write anything amusing, but I’m too stuffed up to sleep (I’m afraid I’ll die! I can’t breathe!), so I’m — what else? — web-surfing.

This is an interesting article about the current generation of von Trapps — the Austrian family immortalized in The Sound of Music, who today run a ski lodge in Vermont.

Okay back to being sick now.

Hi guys.

If you can believe it, after spending the past two days outside in a blizzard, I am sick today. I know, I know. I’m shocked too. Plus it’s Friday and it’s the day after Christmas and traffic is ridiculously low anyway and no one is even reading this so I could just go ahead and confess about my third nipple and no one would even know. Seriously though I feel like ass, so this is probably the last post of the day. Not that you care because you’re not reading this anyway. Did I mention my five labia piercings? Okay really though if you do have a third nipple can you get it pierced? Does anyone do that? Are there pictures on the Internet? Links please.

Oh and Tom Brady is engaged to Gisele Bundchen. You know, the chick he left his pregnant girlfriend for awhile back? Because let’s not forget that he left a pregnant girlfriend. Because he did. He proposed to Gisele on Christmas Eve, on a private jet that took off from Teterboro Airport in New Jersey and landed in Boston. There were four dozen white roses on board, as well as champagne. Oh and Gisele’s parents were there, too. So no pressure. Gisele said yes. MERRY CHRISTMAS BRIDGET MOYNAHAN!

Okay back to bed for my sick ass.

In the predictable shit-storm that is the end of Kate Walsh’s 15-month marriage, the divorce filings are flying.

Two weeks after her husband filed for divorce, the Private Practice star has submitted her own paperwork asking for a permanent split from 20th Century Fox exec Alex Young.

Both parties cite irreconcilable differences as the reason their 15-month union wound down so soon, but while Young’s filing listed their date of separation as Nov. 22, Walsh’s counterfiling has the break coming five days earlier.

Whatever.

Point is, don’t get married to some dude you’ve only known for a few months when you’re both ridiculously rich and important. You’ll both end up unsatisfied and divorcing each other.