Gossip Weblog

Amy Winehouse is out of the hospital and it looks like her stay did some good. For once she doesn’t look like warmed over shit in make-up. I’m not saying I’d want to “hit that,” but if it were suggested, I wouldn’t completely try to bludgeon my own penis. And speaking of male genitalia, scope out this excerpt from the latest Rolling Stone. Writer Claire Hoffman sat outside Amy Winehouse’s apartment and found herself invited in by Beehive Typhoid Mary:

“I’m on a strict put-weight-on diet. I love food. I’m just stressed out.” She returns from the kitchen with an oozing white-bread-and-banana sandwich, on which she sprinkles potato chips. She hands Nicole her laptop, which is caked in fingerprints and smudges, and asks her to show me the photographs of Winehouse and her husband making out, the two of them mugging for the camera like Mickey and Mallory, passing pills to each other with their tongues. Winehouse gets up for more food. Nicole continues the slide show, and suddenly the screen flashes Winehouse’s blurry face, taken from above with a phone in one hand and a gigantic penis in her mouth.

Wow. There’s a mental image for the ages. And, now, to answer your burning question “Why? Why would you do that!?”, the immortal words of Van Morrison:Have I told you lately that I love youHave I told you there’s no one else above youFill my heart with gladnesstake away all my sadnessease my troubles that’s what you doBest readers ever. That’s you guys. Stay in school.

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