I am screaming and punching myself

When you make Paris Hilton look good...

... something is terribly, terribly wrong. Yet that is exactly what Britney Spears has spent the past ten days doing. Laboring under the apparent belief that if you cancel the marriage, any offspring magically disappear, Britney has been partying with Paris Hilton every night since November 19, resulting in a variety of horrifying photo ops.

(All photos snagged from Oh No They Didn't unless otherwise noted.)

I'm sure you're already trying to minimize the window so your co-workers don't see Britney's boobs hanging out for all the world to see. But, my dear friend, we've seen a lot more of Britney this week. A lot more. (Don't worry; I won't post the worst pictures. I won't even describe them too much.)

7-10: CariDee? No, CariDum.

(I know, I know, it's about five days late and there's another stupid episode airing tomorrow night, but I felt the need to recap ANTM if only for consistency's sake.)

I've spoken before about my Thing About Twins, my conviction that they're always telepathically plotting the death of everyone around them. But while Michelle and Amanda have been sweet and kind (regardless of what they were truly thinking), I can't help but wonder if perhaps my dear CariDee has unexpectedly picked up an evil twin. Maybe she's like Niki in Heroes, only her undead doppelganger isn't beating up gangsters, she's making CariDee look like a right idiot. Let's call this dark half CariDum.

That was fast

Some people will do anything to get out of Christmas with the in-laws. On the other hand, yaaaaay!

It's the most wonderful time of the year

I don't know about y'all, but this is why I have pets.

Where's Debbie Harry when you need her?

Is it 1981 all over again? Did I miss a meeting where it was decided that white women in pop music should put out singles featuring some of the most lackluster rapping ever heard? I'd like to think it's mere coincidence that Gwen Stefani's loathsome "Wind It Up" is on the air during Fergie's mortifying "Fergalicious" era, but I worry that there's some deliberate strategy at play.

Mind you, I can't imagine what that strategy would be, since both songs only make me long for the tough coolness of one Deborah Harry, chanting that Fab Five Freddy had told her everybody was high and using the word "comatose" correctly in a gorgeous sigh that leapfrogged over an octave.

7-9: How do you say "stupid" in Catalan?

(Estúpida. But I'm not sure you pronounce it like it's spelled. Which was kind of the point this week -- if such a thing can be said to exist.)

Like a pair of twins communicating telepathically, the CW Web site is trying to kill me. They haven't posted pictures from the most recent ANTM episode or videos of the commercials, and it's been five days since the little bastard aired! What are they doing over there? Tyra, I'm telling you right now: I am not going to record this damn show onto DVD. If you don't want to see more generic art like this map of Spain, go holler at the CW Webmasters.

The furballs of Festivus

As part of my ongoing celebration of all that is joyous, sick and wrong about the holiday season, let me introduce you to the Jingle Cats. You've probably heard their canine counterparts barking out "Jingle Bells" on the radio during at least one holiday season. But to my mind, the cat contingent far outstrips the Jingle Dogs in terms of horrifying listening because the meow has a more expressive range than the bark. Whereas the bark is an explosion of air, the meow is more of a vocalization, so it can -- sweet hanging neuticles, I'm actually writing about critter vocal tendencies as they apply to the freaking Jingle Cats.

Never mind the how and wherefore. Trust me. They're more fun than the Jingle Dogs because they're so much worse.

K-Fed: America's teachable moment

Yeah, yeah, Brit finally kicked Shit to the curb after a two-year-plus downward spiral. We all knew that it was coming sooner or later, and that the coming divorce and custody fight were sure to get uglier than... well, see photo above.

But, in fact, we didn't all know it. Sure, those of us over age 25 who've dated someone like K-Fed -- or Fed-Ex, as he's now called -- could see all this coming. But we have the benefit of hindsight. What about the children? Won't someone think of the children? Well, for the first and probably last time, it seems that K-Fed has thought of the children, for he has provided the parents of America with a walking billboard entitled "Don't Date This Guy."

Return of the 5-foot woman!

(Shown actual size -- I kid!)

She's back! If you thought something had been missing from the world of pop music -- some kind of sweet, effervescent sparkle -- you were right. But this past weekend, Kylie Minogue returned to the stage in her hometown of Sydney, Australia, resuming her "Showgirl" tour after taking a year-and-a-half-long break to battle -- and defeat! -- breast cancer.

Santaphobia!

Before you know it, the holiday season will be upon us like a hungry puma, so let's try to get a little enjoyment out of it now, while we can still stand to hear sleighbells without becoming homicidal.

The Chicago Tribune, in an utterly genius move, asked its readers to send in their photos of terrifying moments involving an allegedly "right jolly old elf." More than 100 people in the Chicago area alone had photographic evidence of the phenomenon I have dubbed Santaphobia. And when you think about it, it makes sense: all the terror of a clown, plus you have to sit on his lap and whisper in his ear. Yeesh.

(Photo from Chicago Tribune site, submitted by reader Judi Hennessy.)