Celine Dion Names Twins — Also Has Celebrity Doppelganger

Days after Celine Dion‘s fraternal twins were born, they finally have a name. One will go by Eddy, after the producer of Dion’s first five albums, Eddy Marnay. The other will be called Neslon, for Nelson Mandela, with whom the singer once spent a whopping three minutes.

Said her rep: “In just the few minutes [Celine and her husband] were able to spend with [Mandela], they were impressed by the human being he is.” (If sanctimony and skewed perceptions of one’s significance make you sick, feel free to hurl. I just did.)

The news really devastated me. Why? Because I had heard that Celine was having a hard time naming the boys, and I wanted to help. I thought she should name them after her celebrity doppelganger. She could have called one Dustin and the other Diamond. Because let’s face it, the homely crooner, even when basked in the soft light her photo shoots undoubtedly require, bears an uncanny resemblance to Screech of Saved by the Bell fame.

Take away her razor for three days and the diva's Screech, y'all.

Here’s a fun fact about Celine. Did you know that she met her husband when she was 12 and he was 38? That’s not creepy. Hey, come to think of it, Celine’s husband, Rene Angelil, has a doppelganger also! James Avery, from Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

I wonder if Carlton knows that Screech married Uncle Phil?

Well, one things for certain. It’ll sure be interesting to find out who Screech and Uncle Phil’s Celine and Rene’s twins end up looking like. It’s bound to be someone famous. Because not only do their mom and dad BOTH have celebrity doppelgangers, so does their older brother. The little guy’s a spitting image of a miniature Ozzy Osbourn.

Screech, Uncle Phil, and mini-Ozzy. Cray Train, indeed.

Photos courtesy of Visopsys.org, Canada.com, LightStalkers, TVonline, and People.

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Breaking News: Brett Favre to Retire

What’s this I’m hearing about Brett Favre texting pictures of his, um, helmet to former playboy pinup Jenn Sterger? If she’s to be believed, then Favre makes the sexting DA look like a pimple-faced amateur breathing heavily into the receiver of a rotary-dial telephone. So you mean to tell me that in addition to zipping footballs to his wide receivers, the future Hall of Famer has also been throwing cell-phone pics of his johnson to (buxom brunettes with) tight ends?

And all these years, I thought he was a pocket passer. Boy was I wrong. He’s obviously more of a spread option kinda guy.

Well, on the bright side, it appears as if the object of John Madden’s countless bro-mantic overtures has seen the error of his ways. Because I just heard that Favre is retiring from the ranks of creepy old dudes who text photos of their ding dongs.

That’s right. About an hour ago, Brett Favre officially announced the he’ll never again engage in the act of sexting vapid hotties. He believes. Though it’s hard to say definitively. You know. Never being such a long time and all.

But he’s pretty damn sure he won’t. He thinks. Word has it that he’ll regroup this offseason and talk it over with his family before doing what feels right.

I’ll keep you posted.

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Lindsay Lohan Work Release Program

Lindsay Lohan at Calvin Klein Spring 2007 Fash...

Image via Wikipedia

Li-Lo — courtesy of wikipedia

By now, I’m sure y’all have heard about Lindsay Lohan’s recent setback. Scant weeks removed from a two-week stint in the poky, the troubled starlet suddenly finds herself dangerously close to being locked up yet again after violating her probation by testing positive for cocaine and amphetamines. [Read more...]

Fuzzy Math

You know what you get if you cross Pee Wee Herman with Ric Ocasek of The Cars? Hint: it’s a killer combination!

+

DIVIDED BY TWO EQUALS:

amy bishop

Top 10 Reasons Al and Tipper Split

Um, Al, I think you sucked up my esophagus.

10. Tipper was incensed every time Al sang along to his 2 Live Crew CDs.

9. Al grew frustrated that Tipper called BS whenever he mentioned his invention, the internet.

8. Global warming. Al was tired of all the greenhouse gas that Tipper continually emitted.

7. Try as they did, they could never quite duplicate that creepy kiss the nation had to endure during the 2000 Democratic National Convention.

6. Al developed a disturbing Lady Gaga fetish.

5. Tipper developed an equally disturbing Justin Bieber fetish.

4. Every time Tipper encouraged Al to count their blessings, he demanded a recount.

3. Al got super-jealous when Tipper referred to Bill Clinton as an “incorrigible hottie.”

2. They constantly fought over the color of their house. Al wanted to paint it white.

1. Al hated Tipper’s come on lines. Her favorite? “C’mon, Poppa. Show Momma that adorable, little hanging chad of yours.”

Fuzzy Math

I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty sure that if you combine

Grace Jones

with

Kathie Lee Gifford

and then divide by two, you’ll get

Rupaul

Image: Wikipedia

The Elena Kagan Equation

I have a question. If you add Brendan Fraser plus Mayim Bialik (that girl who played Blossom–don’t pretend like you never watched) and then divided by two, what would your answer be?

I’m no math whiz, but I’m pretty it’s Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan. (Whoa.)

Brendan Fraser

+

Blossom

divided by two equals

Elena Kagan

I know. You think I’m an idiot. Doesn’t exactly take a Supreme Court justice to rule on that one, does it?

Guilty as charged, my friends.

Tiger and Kate Plus Eight

(To the rhyme of eeny, meeny, miny, mo.)

What you hear just isn’t so:
Catch a tiger by its toe?
You see, that method’s bound to fail.
You catch a Tiger chasing tail.

My mother said to pick the very best one and HE is not it.

Sorry. I tried. I really did. To give Tiger a second chance, that is.  But as the Masters wore on, he wore out his welcome with me. The golfer told the world in a pre-tournament press conference that we’d see a different Tiger on the course. And we did. For the first couple of days, that is–when things were going his way. But on Sunday, when he got off to that shaky start, he was back to the old Tiger as evidenced by the following outbursts:

“Tiger, you suck.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“God damn it.”

And that was just what they caught on tape.

The gig’s up. The questionable things we used to chalk up to his fiery and competitive nature–the attitude, the language, the condescension– are now nothing more than garden-variety attributes of the jerk we know him to be. Woods may go down as the greatest golfer of all time, but unless the “new Tiger” looks a lot different than the one I saw at Augusta, he’ll be equally remembered for being a bad dude.

That’s why he should listen to me. After all, I’m no stranger to helping fallen sports heroes rebuild their image. Just ask Ben Roethlisberger.  And I’ve got the perfect idea for Tiger.

He should marry Kate Gosselin. That’s right. The one with all the kids. It’s widely reported that Woods and Elin are headed for divorce, so he’ll soon be a free man. And Kate’s the perfect mulligan.

Think about it. What better way for Tiger to rehabilitate his image than by proving he really is a family man, in spite of the nationwide, sexual buffet he so slothfully feasted on for the past several years? (There’s a Perkins joke in there somewhere that I wasn’t clever enough to pull off.)

And what better way to prove he’s a family man than by bunking up with a woman whose uterus was once larger than a downtown loft?

But the benefits of marrying Kate go well beyond image rehabilitation. Tiger and Kate would actually make a great couple. For dozens of reasons. Here are the top ten.

10. Tiger would be an excellent step-dad to Kate’s eight kids. Most men would have a hard time keeping up with all the names, but juggling eight names ain’t nothing for Tiger.

9. I’m no wildlife expert, but I’m near certain that a beaten-down tiger would get along pretty darn well with a nipped and tucked cougar.

8. If Tiger ever gets fed up with all the racket that comes with eight kids, he could always just pop one of his Ambien.

7. Kate’s on “Dancing with the Stars,” and word on the street is that Tiger likes dancers. A LOT.

6. Tiger could close his eyes each and every night knowing there’s a fighting chance that he’s sleeping next to someone whom people dislike even more than him.

5. Kate could close her eyes each and every night knowing there’s a fighting chance that she’s sleeping next to someone whom people dislike even more than her.

4. With the time commitment a new relationship requires, Tiger would be too busy to film any more creepy-ass commercials staring his dead dad.

3. Not that they don’t do a good job already, but together? Boy, oh boy, could they ever drive home that “sense of entitlement” concept to their kids.

2. Unlike Elin, Kate’ll think twice before taking a driver to Tiger should the cat ever decide to prowl. After all, with eight kids, there’s bound to be a witness.

1. And the number one reason Tiger should marry Kate Gosselin? They could have a reality show and call it “Tiger and Kate plus Eight,” where, depending on how the marriage goes, the “Eight” would refer to the number of children in their household, or the number of girlies Tiger cages on an average week.

So there you have it. I rest my case. Tiger should marry Kate as soon as his divorce is final.

I just hope they invite to the wedding. ‘Cause I’ve got a toast I’d like to give them.

Dear Ben Roethlisberger

Dear Ben Roethlisberger,

Phew. You dodged another bullet, brother. Good thing you’re a football player, because if baseball were your sport, you’d have struck out by now.

Strike one? Mere months after you won the first of your two Super Bowl rings, you had a serious motorcycle accident, only a year removed from fellow NFL-er Kellen Winslow Jr’s career-threatening motorcycle accident.

In the wake of Winslow’s mishap, Coach Bill Cowher lectured you about motorcycle safety, desperately hoping you’d not be the next NFL guy to find yourself in the same situation. But that’s exactly what happened. And you weren’t wearing a helmet. Which would have come in handy when your head shattered the windshield of a car. Which necessitated a seven-hour surgery. You were lucky it wasn’t worse.

Strike two? Your 2009 run in with a young lady in Lake Tahoe who accused you of sexual assault. Though details would ultimately emerge which called the accuser’s motives into question, and though you never faced any criminal charges stemming from the incident, you still found yourself in a bad position–one which could have easily been avoided if you had made better decisions.

Strike three occurred on March 5, 2010. After a long night of partying in Milledgeville, GA (really, Ben? Milledgeville?), you were accused of sexual assault yet again, this time by a twenty-year old women whom you followed into the dingy bathroom of a local bar. The dingy women’s bathroom of a local bar.

Unlike the last time, this claim seemed to have teeth. Just like last time, you exercised incredibly poor judgment.

A Latin proverb tells us that a smart man learns from his mistakes, but a wise man learns from the mistakes of others.

You do neither.

Which makes you a fool.

But good fortune does not discriminate against the dim-witted. On April 12  the alleged victim announced she no longer wished to pursue criminal charges, thanks to the circus of media attention she wished to avoid.

You’re a very lucky and impossibly dumb man, Ben. Yet just when I thought you couldn’t do anything to lower my estimation of your IQ, you show up at a press conference to read a one-minute apology looking like this:

image courtesy of CNN

Listen, Ben, I’m no PR expert, but it seems to me that the last thing a guy accused of sexual assault for the second time would want to do is show up at press conference looking exactly like Jesse James. You know who I’m talking about, don’t you? He’s the motorcycle guy (hey, you two should ride together sometime) who left his (pregnant) porn-star girlfriend when Sandra Bullock came calling only to cheat on the Hollywood A-lister with a woman whose tattoos make Allen Iverson’s look like they came from a box of Cracker Jacks.

If I had just been accused of forcing myself on a twenty-year old girl in the women’s bathroom of a seedy bar after a six-hour bender in Milledgeville, GA mere months after my last brush with sexual assault? I probably would’ve lost the greasy mullet and dialed up an Opie Taylor look.

And what’s with your disco shirt, Ben? I mean, seriously, is it the same one you wore clubbing in M-town that night? What? Is your “Long Live Ted Bundy” tee dirty or something? At least you didn’t wear this one:

image courtesy of scrapetv.com. or a frat house. not sure which.

Consider a suit next time. Or at least a button down.

Sorry for writing you out of the blue, but I wanted to reach out and offer you my two cents because you’re clearly floundering, big fella. Feel free to take my advice, or blow it off, whichever suits you.

OH. And just one more thing. If you ever do find yourself publicly apologizing for being involved in similar matters, would you mind reading your statement in front of someone else’s locker?

Because when trying to eradicate the imagery of sexual assault, it’s probably best to distance yourself from the word “Colon,” even if it is nothing more than a teammate’s last name printed neatly on a sign above his locker. Given the circumstances, it’s just too visceral.

But look on the bright side. At least his number isn’t 69.

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