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The birth of Unicornariah Twinkle Sprite and Lambow Brite Nickamante almost happened on Mariah Carey's born day this weekend when she had early contractions, but it turned out to be a false alarm. This is a sparkly rainbow of good news for all of us! Because if Mimi's twin babies were born, we would've never gotten a picture of the Color Me Mine bump she Tweeted along with this message:

My attempt @ festiveness on 327! For ATLITL thank u + I♥U! Comin soon #dembabies! LYMA+thanx 4 making me happy:) http://twitpic.com/4ebbbm about
3 hours ago via Twitpic Retweeted by 100+ people

Does anybody know of an 8-year-old Lisa Frank character who can translate that for us?

Mimi's twins really aren't going to come out now. They're staring at the hermaphrodite butterfly from the other side of her belly and realizing that a future of dressing like Care Bear candy ravers is about to begin. On a positive note, I'm sure their five-octave cries will shatter the sequined bunny ears she puts on their heads. So there's that!

Reese Witherspoon made the WRONG decision. That dumb dumb married that Jim Toth dude when she could've stayed with a man who loves nothing more than to play Wii tennis while bouncing his knees and flicking his wrists to "I Wanna Dance With Somebody." THINK ABOUT YOUR LIFE CHOICES, Reese, while reading what you could've witnessed every single night. Make her weep, Jake:

“I don’t do karaoke or play Rock Band or Guitar Hero but I do play a little Wii Tennis while listening to Whitney Houston. I can’t play Wii Tennis without listening to Whitney Houston actually. I might mention that to Duncan (Source Code director Duncan Jones) as an idea for a movie because that’s right up our alley! I really just do it for myself. It’s just an incredible thing to exercise but for it to become like a meditative thing rather than just working out is amazing and that’s how it is for me.”

Jakey and I have something in common. I too like to pretend I'm handling white balls in the middle of my living room while listening to "Heartbreak Hotel" (the Crack is Whack remix) at full blast. And yeah, I totally call it meditative exercise too.

The block in hell reserved exclusively for pug murderers just got a Charlie Sheen nameplate bonded to the bars of one of its cells, because TMZ is saying that a wrinkly faced dog is snoring in heaven thanks to the ash-fisted alley cat troll. Charlie Sheen spewed out this Tweet earlier this morning after his ex-wife Denise Richards refused to hand over the pug that was living at a house. It's not that Denise is afraid the tiger blood in Charlie's system will take over and he'll eat the face off her pug. Denise is afraid that her pug will die of malnourishment after weeks of trying to survive on cigarette butts, shower water stuck between the tiles and old crack rock residue. This is what allegedly happened to Denise's other pug. Yeah, I'm not even done telling this story and it's already getting 5 out of 5 sad pugs:

When Denise and Charlie split up, she let him take care of her 2 pugs so that their daughters could play with them at his house during visits. The pugs were doing okay until Charlie's chandelier-murdering breakout at the Plaza hotel. Shortly after that, Denise started hearing that her pugs weren't being fed and were in a bad way. Denise rescued her dogs from Charlie, but sadly one died of malnourishment. And now Charlie wants the other pug to be the mascot of his tour bus, so he wants it back. Denise isn't going to let that happen.

Julian Sands is the only warlock in my eyes, and he wears specially made silk gloves when he pets a pug out of fear that he'll be too rough with it. And Charlie Sheen let one die a slow painful death?! If this is true, who in Satan's cunt hell does he think he is? Ina Garten?!

I could sprain my finger tips from writing all the things that should happen to Charlie Sheen, but instead I'll just say that I hope he comes back as one of Parasite Hilton's dogs in his next life.

If you're a skilled brow reader who happens to be in front of Mary Perry Hudson when she sees this picture of her daughter's tits, you will most likely read her eyebrows screaming the following rant: "Cover those breasts in the name of JESUS! I got your number, hussy, and it's 666!" Katy Perry's evangelical preacher mother is shopping around a book proposal and in it she writes about how she's not exactly praising her daughter's Candy Land harlot wear and song lyrics.

Katy sometimes talks about her Christian upbringing, but those who care will get every single detail about it if her mother's book ever gets published. Page Six got a hold of the full proposal going around to publishers and in it, Mary Perry compares herself to Billy Ray Cyrus (because his child has "risen to fame and live contrary to her parents' beliefs") and writes that she hopes her daughter morphs into "a Kathryn Kuhlman type of healer."

But it's Mary Perry's pearl-clutching response to Katy's tits that bothers me the most. Mary Perry needs to take a class at the Catholic catechism class I attended as a child, because we were taught that chichis are heaven's mountains and cleavage is a side smile for Jesus. Or maybe I remember it differently since I was usually drunk on communion wine. But that's not the point. The point is what is Mary Perry talking about here?

"Katy stepped out from behind the changing doors in a tiny risqué costume. No mother wants to see the top of her daughter's boobs . . . My first instinct was to order her back behind those doors and demand she put something else on . . . However, I had no problem letting my eyebrows say what I wouldn't allow my mouth to utter."

And Mary Perry also no problem writing about it in a book for some extra money that I'm sure she'll use to start the Christian Moms Against Pop Star Cleavage foundation.

But we all know how this story ends. Mary Perry will try to expunge Katy Perry's dark-sided perverseness by putting her on house arrest. Then Mary Perry will smack her head on a passing car in the street and meet sex saint Ray-Ray. You know how the rest goes. I hope Johnny Knoxville is firing up his jizz head as I type this.

And here's Katy's man husband Russell Brand looking like a Cher wax figure at the L.A. premiere of HOP with Hugh Laurie and The Hoff.

Connor Cruise is really wishing that the Scientology gift shop sold super absorbent pads to slip under thetan-resistant g-strings, because he knows that his nose will be stuck to the AC vent on the SUV ride home now that Tommy Girl locked eyes and awkwardly touched hands Becks at the Lakers game in L.A. yesterday. As David Beckham's vocal cords whistled out tales of Posh's pregnancy cravings for ice cream fumes and diluted pickle water, Tommy Girl's Scientolohole blew out massive amounts of prostate pudding while thinking about how he'd like to audit Becks' nipples with his tongue. And Connor isn't the only one who wished that he had a mute button for his senses....

Poor Suri probably didn't get a wink of beauty sleep last night. Tommy Girl skipped into his boudoir, flopped on his canopy bed and sang out "I Could've Creamed All Night" while his man slaves dressed him in an assless onesie for bedtime. Hopefully, Suri punished Tommy by "accidentally" dropping her open barley water bottle on the hand that Becks touched. The hand that Tommy swore he would only wash in Becks' saliva. If you hear a high-pitched "WHY?!!!!" shooting out of Tommy's dungeon this morning, you know it's not coming from Katie Holmes for a change.

The truth is, I don't mean that title. Kingston Rossdale is the fashion icon of the sandbox and so if he wants to boil the assholes of the teddy bear activists at PETSA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Stuffed Animals) by wearing a Maude inspired faux fur vest, let him! And if he wants to bleach his hair into a shade I like to call "Samro Surprise," nobody's going to put him in time out for it!

Looking at that Where the Wild Things are mess on Kingston cues up the "remember when" harp for me and makes me think of these fake fur car seat covers from the swap meet my mom had in her Buick in the 80s. They were like a glamorous hug for car seats. A glamorous hug that smelled like old milk and piña colada oil from the car wash. Whenever I got the chance, I'd pull the covers off of her car seats and wear them off my shoulder thinking I was Alexis Carrington or some shit. Kingston should be grateful that he never had to wear car seat covers!!!!

Here's Kingston, Gwen Stefani, Gavin Rossdale, Zuma Nesta Rock (that name still sounds like a limited-edition flavor from Arizona iced tea) and the nanny walking around Little Tokyo and the science museum in L.A. on Saturday afternoon.

Once his cute cub features and movie roles disappeared, Simba began turning tricks to feed his tranquilizer addiction. - DUDE

Runners-up:

Not another Demi and Ashton Twitter picture... - Mother Superior

Weeping ex's will surround his casket... "This was the first time pussy had ever eaten Mike!" - pickle_smooch

It looks like Jocelyn Wildenstein is starting to "grow into her face." - Vern

via PIU

Believe it or not, Louis Garrett aka "Shovelhead" isn't a Hot Slut because of the lush shrub of Sasquatch pubes on his face, the jagged gateway to ecstasy (aka the sea of moonshine) in his mouth or the prison tattoo art gallery on his face. Shovelhead earned the title because he created an impressively crafted work of Americana that is destined to become the star of the American Folk Art Museum in the near future. Shovelhead (who earned that nickname because of his love for Harleys with shovelhead motors and not because he was hit with a shovel in the head) is the arts and crafts mastermind behind the PANTY QUILT!!!!!!!

Shovelhead is an avid mannequin and ladies lingerie collector, so when he saw pictures of a panty quilt in "a magazine," he was inspired to create his own using old napkins from a Howard Johnson and chonies donated by benefactors of the arts. Yes, Shovelhead collects MANNEQUINS (insert Estelle Getty cringe here)! That definitely puts the lotion in the basket. By the way, the lotion I'm talking about is made of liquified nightmares.

Below is Shovelhead talking to Hannibal.net about his beautiful quilt. Try to focus on his words and not his mesmerizing chest dumplings:

"I don't want them cheap dollar store, not sexy, farm girl panties. I want class, silk or nylon. Sexy. Victoria's Secret!" An artist with standards is a rare breed!

via Gawker (Thanks to everybody who sent this in)

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Scientists have not yet found a way to clone Anne Hathaway so that she can play every under 40 female role in every single movie being produced, and that's good news for Amy Adams. Because if a Dolly Hathaway clone existed, it would get the role of Lois Lane instead of Amy. Amy found out today that she'll be Superman's boo in the remake that we don't need but Hollywood is going to give us anyway because they know if they release it in 3D or IMAX we'll come. I hate us.

Zack Snyder, who is responsible for that Sucker Punch mess, released a statement to E! News today confirming that Lois will be a cougar-in-training (Amy is 36 and Henry Cavill is 27).

"Second only to Superman himself, the question of who will play Lois Lane is arguably what fans have been most curious about. So we are excited to announce the casting of Amy Adams, one of the most versatile and respected actresses in films today. Amy has the talent to capture all of the qualities we love about Lois: smart, tough, funny, warm, ambitious and, of course, beautiful."

This latest butchery of Christopher Reeve's legacy will also star Kevin Costner and Diane Lane as Superman's parents.

Amy Adams earned glamour points in my book when beat a ho good on the front porch in The Fighter, but she's still no Margot Kidder or Teri Snatchers. But luckily for Amy, she can't do any worse the last live-action Lois Lane: Kate Bosworth. I spent most of the movie hoping that Superman would blow her wig (or whatever that dead cat tail shit on her head was) away. So keep the ginge, Amy, and you can't go wrong!