“They took this beautiful man and they basically put poison in him,” she reportedly said. “Why couldn’t they have built him up nutritionally and gotten rid of the toxins in his body? I hate to be controversial. I’m a singer-dancer-comedienne. But we have an epidemic going on, and I have to say it.”

Ok Suzanne, two things:

1. You are not a singer-dancer-comedienne.

Oh, you might have been one or two of those things 40 years ago, but now you’re a saggy bag of Restylane who can’t get any press unless she exploits someone else’s cancer.

2. You don’t “have to say it”.

Not everything that limps into that shriveled cortex of yours needs to be immediately vomited out into the media. Not only is it not responsible, it’s just none of your fucking business.

How do you suppose Patrick Swayze’s family feels reading this? The people who did everything they knew to save him, who suffered countless hours watching him die, how do you think they feel hearing that world renown cancer authority Chrissy Snow thinks he was “poisoned”?

You have no idea, because it never occurred to you that anyone outside of your fake wellness evangelism exists, or has any feelings at all. How dare you presume to judge the way someone manages their own cancer? What possible business is it of yours? You might as well be standing outside a chemo clinic with a poster of a dead baby, spewing your ignorance through a bullhorn, you selfish moron. Why don’t you just picket his funeral? That’s got to be worth a few minutes on Larry King.

“Why couldn’t they have built him up nutritionally?” Well I guess that would have been one way to go, except that YOU CAN’T FUCKING EAT ANYTHING BECAUSE YOU HAVE CANCER IN YOUR PANCREAS, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT.

3. Shut your fucking mouth, you hypocritical, disgusting fuck bag.

Okay, I realize I that’s three things, but this last one just seemed so important.

There are a lot of things that are wrong with this country right now.

There’s an unchecked media, trafficking in fear and misinformation for profit. Politicians more beholden to lobbyists than their constituents. A growing climate of cruelty and violence, and the death of intelligent discourse.

But nothing comes closer to destroying America than celebrities naming their children.

Think about it. We’re not just talking about Apple and Talullah Belle and Moxie Crimefighter in group therapy in 2012. There are people in this world who are profoundly influenced by decisions the celebrities make. There are even people who subscribe to GOOP without irony.

That means there are people in the world right now who are naming their children the way the stars do. In the future, there will be entire cities of people named after household objects and types of produce.

“The chair recognizes Edward Cullen Cherimoya Voldemort Kardashian.”

Is this the future you want?

And while we’re on the subject of dipshit celebrities, explain this fucking quote to me:

Oh, okay. Got it.

I might have thought you wanted to spend your life with someone you were deeply connected to. Someone who shared the same vision of the future. Someone who was less invested in what your dreams were, than you actually achieving them.

Turns out it was all about the cardigan. You and Fred Rogers. Mazel Tov.

I hear they’re registered at Talbots.

But even if you haven’t, and even if you weren’t able to sit through the first five minutes like we did the other night, it doesn’t matter. Because you’ve seen this show a million times already, and it still isn’t any good.

There’s something about this show that just makes me tired and quiet. And it’s not even the nurse-who-breaks-all-the-rules-because-she-cares-so-much bullshit, although that alone makes me want to lie down and just give the fuck up.

No, the thing that really exhausts me is the logo treatment.

HawthoRNe, get it?

Because she’s a Registered Nurse!

See how that works?

Oh, I tell you I had no idea she was a nurse until they spelled it all for me in the logo. The shots of her in a lab coat didn’t tip me at all. I thought she worked at a photo lab.

Well, you know how Hollywood works. An idea this good is bound to be repeated over and over again.

Let’s not fight it. Let’s just jump in and help TNT round out their Fall Season.

In any case this is a swell show, as evidenced by the fact that we talk about Pat Boone’s penis and Dick Van Dyke doing rap within the first 7 minutes. And of course the second hour is almost entirely dominated by me making fun of Britney Spears and being angry with the post office.

And boy, do I miss Roy. I haven’t spoken to him in a long time, and these shows have brought back a lot of happy memories for me.

Click here for the April 28, 2001 show

And of course if you like the show . . .

And speaking of lasts, today is the last day for the first round of my eBay auctions. I can’t tell you how important this is, people. The time for dicking around is over.

If you’ve ever wanted something like this, make sure you’re near a computer starting 7:00 tonight, or you have no one to blame for yourself.

Click here for all current auctions

The first show is our Oscar special, circa 2001. This one is a real time capsule, harkening back to the days when Russell Crowe was actually nominated for something, besides Biggest Slob with a Giant Cyst Between his Eyes™. Yes, this show is as fresh as Bjork’s swan dress, and only slightly less amusing.

The second show is from the last week in March, 2001. This one is very, very special. I toyed with making this a premium show, so you’d have to pay for the privilege of listening to it, but I relented. After all, you can’t put a price on The Naked Maid.

Yes, this is the night the naked Brazillian man came to KFI, and cleaned the studio while we tried to do a show. I don’t remember much about this, except that its was unbelievably uncomfortable and I wanted it to be over as quickly as possible.

So in that way, we have something in common.

Click here for the March 25, 2001 Oscar Special

Click here for the March 31, 2001 Naked Maid Show

I’ve been putting off writing about, since it’s the kind of thing that I can spend a whole day on, and frankly, I don’t have that kind of time. These Judge Matthis episodes aren’t going to watch themselves.

But the longer I wait, the more irritated I get. So now I have no choice but to take to my blog, and politely ask Jamie Lee Curtis to shut the fuck up.

It started with a post she made over at Huffpo, entitled, “A Fish Called Denial”.

I’m already annoyed.

It gets worse. Within the first paragraph, she references Buddha, Aristotle, The London Underground and manages to drop in the fact that she knows John Cleese. It’s a fine start.

But to what? That’s really the question. Because I have no fucking idea, and I’ve read the thing three times.

At first, it appears to be a piece about A Rod and steroids, but it quickly turns into a diatribe about Madoff. The connection is not apparent to me, since he can’t even go to a Duane Reed with that ankle bracelet, much less a ball game.

But I don’t have to struggle long, since she abruptly turns the corner into mortgage lenders and corporate greed, and how we’re all to blame for everything because we have credit cards.

Now let me be clear. I have no problem with her writing about any of this. These are important issues, and she has as much right to be heard as John Cusack and Steven Weber and all the other self-important Hollywood gasbags polluting the pages of Huffpo with their nonsense.

What annoys me is that there’s nothing thoughtful about what she’s written. It’s just impulsive, scattershot venting of hot button issues, with no answers or point of view. It reads like political Madlibs, and every space is asking for a cause.

When she finally starts writing about the Oscars, I relax a little. She may not be qualified to speak on other topics, but she is arguably an expert in the industry, and I’m expecting some real insight.

Instead, we get this:

I am so happy to celebrate great works of art and this year there are plenty of examples . . . but the machine behind it all, the sickening amount of money spent to create this delusion, in this very real time of difficulty seems so misguided.

Misguided? Really?

To do a show that employs thousands of people? To have an event event afterward that is catered and staffed by vendors who count this as their most important job of the year?

How many people keep their jobs at the Kodak Theatre because events like this are held there? How many people keep their jobs at ABC because advertisers pay a premium to be seen during the broadcast? What about the limo companies, the make-up artists, the couriers, the photographers and the thousands of other behind the scenes people who make their living from events like these?

So . . . what? We don’t have the Oscars if the economy is bad? Okay! Let’s cut out all those jobs and just have it at her house. I’m sure it’s big enough.

Besides, people in a struggling economy don’t want entertainment. We certainly don’t want our spirits lifted by seeing ecstatic Indian children having the night of their lives, or be moved by a heterosexual actor calling for the legalization of gay marriage.

No, we want to sit around at the table and look at our bills all night.

Hey, here’s an idea. How about Jamie gives up her internet connection and sends that $29.95 a month to an unemployed auto worker in Detroit? I mean hell, having an internet connection when people are out of work seems so misguided.

But I think this is where I lost all patience:

Actors have been turned into models, flaunting their borrowed clothes, jewels and faces; some are even paid large sums of money simply to wear a dress or diamond. This isn’t glamour. This is advertising.

And some are paid large sums of money simply to hold up a container of yogurt that makes you shit.

You know, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t live in a mansion and preach about conservation. You can’t have implants and rail against plastic surgery. And you can’t make millions of dollars hawking Activia and complain about the evils of advertising.

And why would you want to? Doesn’t advertising create an awareness and demand for a product or service? Isn’t that kind of the whole fucking point, to create demand in the marketplace so people start spending money? Or is that only for yogurt?

Glamour is internal. The rest is window dressing.

The same can be said for intelligence. You aren’t Jeffrey Sachs because you stopped dying your hair.

Now go have the nanny bring the Prius around. You’re late for Pilates.

The think tank has weighed in on the Opinion page of the L. A. Times web site, and you’re about to get educated!

Ready?

It’s her fault.

While the majority stop short of condoning physical violence, many seem to think she provoked Brown by:

- Touching his phone
- Taking his keys
- Hitting him first
- Running her mouth

Now to be fair, many of the comments in this thread were critical of Chris Brown’s behavior. But the ones who support this idiot are far more entertaining.

So I’ve gone ahead and selected my favorites, and broken them down into categories for easy reading.

1. SHE DESERVED IT

2. IT’S NOT THAT BAD

2. HE’S JUST A KID

3. WHAT REALLY HAPPENED

4. THE RACE CARD

5. IT’S NOT TRUE BECAUSE I LOVE HIM

6. WHAT?

Mickey Rourke is back.

When French chicks start flashing their cans at you, you’re a star again. It’s true.

You think this happens to Billy Zabka? You think Jaleel White sees this shit when he’s coming out of Check Into Cash?

No, this is the kind of thing that only happens when you’re back in that tiny zip code of fame, basking in that nanosecond of public adoration.

Enjoy it, Mickey. We’ll be tearing you apart soon enough.