I love the Kentucky Derby–not because of the horse racing. I could give a crap about horse racing– although I do love to hear Nancy O’Dell talk about how she chooses what horse to bet on based on how nice its ass is.

Equestrian junk-in-the-trunk aside, I love the Kentucky derby because it makes obscenely rich (and moderately famous) people put ridiculous things on their heads and stroll around for photo ops because, well, that’s just what one does on Derby Day. It’s the rich and famous version of peer pressure at its worst, and I love every minute of it.

Take a stroll through the photo gallery. You’ll find yourself asking questions like: Did a can of silly string explode on Lynn Whitfield’s head? Does Bobby Flay ever NOT look like a total prick? If I jump on Brooke Shields’ head, will I get an extra life?

In case you were wondering, a tiny, screaming, weeping, Creole lunatic riding a horse called “Mine That Bird” won the race today. God, I love the derby.

Or do the hats fight? I get so confused sometimes.