Don’t get me wrong: I’m still mad at Brad Pitt. When he walked out on Jennifer Aniston, I felt like he took all my fairytale-marriage-to-Brad-Pitt dreams along with him. You’d think they would have evaporated when he married Jennifer Aniston, and, consequently, not me, but somehow they persisted still. Like I could have my fairytale marriage to Brad Pitt through Rachel Green. I soaked up every minute of our power-couple union. What kind of person operates in such a distorted, delusional reality? I’ll tell you: it’s the same kind of person who writes a celebrity gossip blog.

So when he left us for that whorecake of a U.N. Goodwill Ambassador (that’s not even a real ambassador, I’ll have you know), I was pissed. It was totally uncool. I felt jilted, betrayed. I was mad at him.

Then he shows up on the cover of Esquire looking ridiculously hot and broody, and what does he say about his relationship with Captain Whorebreath?

“Angie and I will consider tying the knot when everyone else in the country who wants to be married is legally able.”

And when you set aside the fact that Brad Pitt just boldly advocated polygamy and child brides to a well-respected men’s publication, it’s really a very nice sentiment, and I may take his photo off my dartboard, just for this week.

• After his little traffic mishap on July 20, the LA County District attorney will charge Haley Joel Osment with a DUI. I’m sure the young Mr. Osment knows how to get through this; after all, he spent most of last month being charged by the media with driving a 1995 Saturn.
• Outted Jew-hater Mel Gibson has been sentenced for his DUI arrest earlier this month. He got 3 years probation and 5 AA meetings a week for the next 4 1/2 months, with 3 meetings a week for the rest of the year after that. He also must pay fines totalling $1300, which is about .00043% of what Passion of the Christ netted him personally. The Life Ring blog notes that the U.S. media tend to tiptoe around AA and other 12-step programs, but Britain’s Telegraph tells it like it is: Mel Gibson is even a nutcase about AA, demanding spur-of-the-moment Big Book discussions immediately before a take on the set of Braveheart. So — who’s down to stalk some Melibu AA meetings? I’ll drive!
• That Owen Wilson knows a good publicity train when he sees one. He hopped on board and he’s grabbing a coal shovel, threatening to sue anyone who suggests he might have a role in the demise of the Kate Hudson/Strange Bearded Man alliance.
• Brangelina are moving to Los Feliz, ostensibly because no one in Los Angeles can agree on how to pronounce it, let alone remember where it is.

I’d like to begin by issuing an apology to Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. In a post last month, I was unnecessarily harsh to the couple, ranting and raving about how insane, fame-whorish, and bad-parenty it was for them to allow a wax likeness of their two-month-old child to be photographed for money.

Compared to Britney Spears, Pitt & Jolie are the Cleavers. (Is there actually anyone alive today who ever watched Leave it to Beaver? Why do we still say things like that? I have no idea who the Cleavers are and you don’t either.)

Ms. Spears said an assortment of very retarded and childhood-ruining things while in the presence of People magazine’s writing staff, and I’d like to summarize the highlights. While Brad and Angelina waited until their baby had a good solid two months of footing in this world before demonstrating publicly that she’s nothing more than a long-term PR stunt, Britney formally announces she didn’t really want her baby while it’s still in utero. “It just kind of happened,” said Britney, by which she means “I meant to to take my birth control, ya’ll, but I was too damn stoned, you know? Oh-muh-gahd. Fee?”

It’s also nice to see that Britney’s in touch with the real reason she wanted to get knocked up in the first place: “It makes me feel needed and wanted,” she says, “so I like it.”

It’s so clear now: when international superstardom, worldwide adoration, mountains of cold hard cash and a steady diet of bong hits and McDonalds just won’t heal that empty ache within, you know you’re ready to be a mom.

While a Jesus-lovin’ Mel Gibson works hard to bring Jew-hating back to the mainstream, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are leaving that last-season Judeo-Christian crap in the past where it belongs. The couple is focused on our world’s latest Chosen One, taking graven images to a whole new level by allowing their two-month-old child to be depicted in wax and put on display.

Okay. Stop.

Can we talk for a second about how incredibly fucked up this is? Please? I don’t care where the profits are going (UNICEF for anyone who thinks this changes anything), this is your child. This kid never had a chance. They never even tried. What could possibly be an acceptable rationale for allowing your two-month-old child to be replicated in wax and thrown in a museum and photographed with tourists for money? They don’t need the cash flow, I assure you. If UNICEF needs funding that badly, I’m sure one of them can cough up some dough. Why oh why would a person do this? I feel awkward making judgments on how people raise their children, and I try generally to avoid the topic, but this is really frustrating behavior to me; how is this baby ever going to develop a sense of self when her image is a media sensation before she’s really even fully sentient? When she’s been defined by millions of strangers worldwide before she even knows her own name? This is how the Paris Hiltons of the world come to exist, folks. These are the ingredients, but they’re much more potent here. This girl is in for a long journey, with a lot of hard outer shells and late-life soul-searching.

It’s going to be sooo much fun to hear all about it on E!

I’m sure Tom Cruise is teaming with envy, and you’ll see Wax Suri on display in the adjacent room just as soon as he and Katie adopt her.