Don’t be mad at me for being consumed with Amber and Johnny; Tik Tok videos with the hashtag #JusticForJohnny have been viewed 8.3 billion times! Americans have googled Amber Heard four times more than google searches for abortion or the Supreme Court.

It could be serving as a needed escape from the reality of our politics, Covid, inflation, and bla bla bla. But I think it’s just a universal drama that most of us can relate to. Most of us have had at least one destructive relationship under out belts. Most of us have wanted to have sex with Johnny Depp at one time or another. Most of us love courtroom conflicts. And most of us pride ourselves on our ability to spot a liar.

And Amber is lying her head off, right??

Yesterday I read a preachy essay about how the backlash against Amber is misogynistic. There are a few of these essays making the rounds. If you don’t believe Amber Heard, you are dooming abuse victims to silence or worse.

But I disagree. I think it’s because this particular woman seems so awful and nuts. My favorite quote of all time is the former friend who described her as a sociopathic show pony. Try saying it out loud. It’s just a wonderful phrase! I could not love it more. And I feel it is apt, after watching her antics in court. The continual head bobbing and barrage of theatrical expressions are truly bonkers.

Further, I’ve decided that her “lip cut” is a cold sore, and her bruises are the result of botox injections. Don’t ask me about my research or you’ll know how immersed I am in this crap.

If you listen to their taped arguments – and who tapes arguments besides my sister??- you can hear her goading him, using weird baby voices or laughing demonically. Johnny seems to maintain a tired and pissed off tone, even though his acting skills are a million times superior, while she tries everything under the sun to manipulate him.

I don’t believe the bottle incident because whose pum pum can accommodate a fucking whiskey bottle for fucksake? Without having to go to the hospital for surgery afterwards? Her crazy email after this pretend incident says she wants to rip him apart and devour him. Which cannot follow a rape by a whiskey bottle, in my world or anyone else’s.

And also, what about her hairdos? Jesus Christ with those hairdos. The farm-girl braiding, the fluffy loose buns, the fake disheveledness. I’ll admit I’m jealous of her tailored designer suits and the way she buttons her shirt collars. But the fucking water bottle…no.

Her intake of mushrooms and MDMA do not reflect the anti-drug stance she insists on having, and her use of Elon Musk suggests a fetish for powerful men. There is nothing sympathetic about this woman, no matter how you regard Johnny Depp. I kind of want to kick her myself.

Worst of all is her flagrant lie about donating the $7 million divorce settlement, which I knew was a lie back when she first announced it. Because I can spot a liar a mile off. It is one of my superpowers, like finding thrift store treasures and critiquing bad writing.

Okay then. Thoughts?

Even when you expect the worst, the Grammy Awards show surpasses anything you could possibly imagine. It’s hard to know where to begin with a menu this egregious, but I’ll just jump in with Lady Gaga.

Once I heard she was chosen for a David Bowie tribute, I braced myself. She would turn it into an awful showcase for her androgynous mugging and strut around like a Vegas act for people who vaguely recall Ziggy Stardust. Check, check. But it was so much worse.

Even David Bowie’s son couldn’t contain himself and tweeted in exasperation. Please go away, Lady Gaga. You’ve already tainted poor Tony Bennett, your work was done long ago.

Now for Taylor Swift. Her performance of that awful song with woods and wolves was all about her sparkly unitard and scrawny giraffe-like physique. Her come-hither gazes into the camera were disturbing enough to make my stoic husband recoil. Where is that washed-out fake country girl we used to not love? Can she come back? I am begging.

Then, when Taylor won her award, she began, “As the only woman to win two Album of the year awards…” as though accepting the Nobel Prize for discovering the Time Space Continuum. She went on to urge girls to own their success, evidently a coded message to Kanye West to stop fucking with her. As if!

Kendrick Lamar or Lamar Kendrick performed a gripping rap that made one aware of how corrosive racism is in America and I’m being perfectly serious. He is to Kanye as Richard Pryor is to Kevin Hart. I think. Because I may be too white for any of this.

Demi Lovato sang something very loudly but I like her for her struggles with mental health issues and her great eyebrows.

On the Cute Guy front, we had the always dreamy John Legend, Dave Grohl looking fresh and eager, Miguel and Bruno Mars easily making up for their diminutive stature (or statures plural) with great style. Justin Bieber was also kind of hot, in a clueless rent-boy sort of way.

If like me, you were waiting for Adele to come out and justify the whole torture-fest, you were stunned and baffled nearly to tears. WHAT HAPPENED TO HER PERFECT VOICE?! We cringed at the bad notes, wondering if our last beacon of hope for pop music has suddenly gone dark.

However, it seems that technical difficulties, like a mic falling into the piano, had fucked her up. This makes sense. I am going to accept this explanation and cling to it for dear life. We’re counting on you, Adele. Don’t leave us alone in the wilderness of auto-tuned screeching and jazz hands!

Finally, the debut of Johnny Depp‘s band, the Something Vampires, featuring Joe Perry and Alice Cooper and also Duff Something from Guns And Roses.

I wondered what millennials thought of this stupid throwback attempt at hard rock at it’s most posturing and pointless. Why can’t these guys indulge themselves in their home studios and leave us out of it? For anyone still on-board with Johnny Depp, jump. Even if there’s no lifeboat.

Where is Madonna when you need someone to roll around on a bed or just trip on a cape?

If it gets any worse, I will have to watch the Grammys blindfolded, with earplugs.

Okay. What did I forget?

Why doesn’t anyone tell Donatella that she looks like a Muppet? Is she too important? Or is it just too painful to deal with?

I know I’d want someone to tell me.  If I went around looking like a Muppet, it would mean that I had lost my mind and needed help. Maybe celebrities in the fashion world don’t like to help each other.

I like helping. I am here to help, you could even say. So, here comes my exegesis of tonight’s event:

Katie Holmes, are you fucking blind???

God, get Tom’s stylists, can’t you? You will never live this one down.

Kristen Stewart, I don’t want to hear your excuse. There is no excuse. Zero out of ten.

Kim K,  you look like a big blue whale. Super not-good. Please, please, go away.

Lots of other attendees looked awful, crazy, or boring. Johnny Depp looked awful, crazy and alarmingly ancient. That girl will definitely dump him. Who wants to put some money on it? Lupita Nyongo wore a tragic outfit by Prada that looked like a bad Halloween costume for an Indian Maiden, but everyone had to go “You know, she pulled it off, that’s how great she is!”

The obvious winner, who does not need my help, was Bee Shaffer, who outdid herself in a beautiful regal gown with a long train. Bryanboy called it early in the evening. Let’s all admire Bee while we try to forgive her mother for being Anna Wintour.

I’m making it official. After twenty years of devotion to Johnny Depp as my go-to romantic fantasy, I’m breaking up with him.

The silly hats and the hobo outfits have been trying. The prayer-hands in response to applause have been embarrassing. The unceasing bromances with every male cultural icon from Hunter Thompson to Marlon Brando, ick.

Through it all, I excused his pretentious bullshit because he was Johnny Depp. He was just quirky.

But according to a new interview in Rolling Stone, Johnny Depp “always carries around a copy of Finnegan’s Wake, which he’s been puzzling through for years.”

Jesus, no.

There are limits to what is forgivable, and this is mine. Just last week, I defended Johnny Depp when my friend denounced him for dating a 27 year old model. I told her that he deserved a 27 year old model. His taste in women has always run to perfect doll-like beauties. Who could blame him, I lectured, he’s Johnny Depp.

But now I’m sorry I took his side. ‘Finnegan’s Wake?? ‘Ulysses‘ wouldn’t be poseur enough for him? Nobody can understand Finnegan’s Wake except my brother-in-law, and the rest of us know to stop trying after two pages. Johnny Depp is like a college girl carrying around Anais Nin. People who try to seem intellectual are just sad.  I’ll always remember a pop singer who said in an interview that her idols were Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina. Every time I hear her voice, I feel sad for her. That’s how nice I am.

Goodbye, Johnny. You were so cute, so sexy, so fucking adorable in ‘What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.’ But it’s over.

Here’s your icon of minimalist beauty, happy now? I just want to get the Tilda Swinton thing out of the way. You all love her, you love her awful style, you love her offbeat lifestyle, if you’re gay, you fucking adore her.   You loved her awful skirt and shirt outfit at the Golden Globes! I thought it was predictably dowdy and her hair was a disturbing   homage to Gumby.

Okay, I will be brief:

Ricky Gervaise was fearlessly funny, the best element of a very dull event. Angelina Jolie was stunning in emerald green, with a waxwork expressionless face. Claire Dane went out of her way to flaunt her flat chest, as always, and Nicole Kidman wore a weird duckface mask. Natalie Portman looked dumpy, Jane Fonda looked scrawny and sounded nuts. Sandra Bullock wore fake black bangs that didn’t match the rest of her hair and Scarlett Johansson can’t figure out how to leave well enough alone: Her tragic haircut and nothing colored dress made it hard to remember that she is a babe. Olivia Wilde, whoever she is, wore a gorgeous sparkly gown by Marchessa.

Helena Bonham Carter looked icily furious when she didn’t win, either too drunk or too pissed off to fake a smile.

Here are the men I would have sex with, besides the obvious frontrunner Johnny Depp:   Robery Downey Junior, Ryan Gosling, Colin Firth, and Christian Bale.

What important details did I forget to mention?

The commuinques above are from the esteemed owner of Dolly Python, a shop in Dallas, using a nom de guerre.

~

This one below is from the classy socialite and fashion maven Judy Aldridge (regarding Anna Wintour):

What do they have in common? I see a disturbing preoccupation with menstruation.

I remember being around 10 years old and having to see a film in school about menstruation. I   recall feeling intense embarrassment and general discomfort.

But then I got a little older and had my first period. My sister showed me what to do. It was kind of upsetting. She forgot to tell me that you had to keep changing your pads. But soon enough, I learned that menstruation is just a part of life. I never used cute little euphemisms like “My friend is in town” or however that one goes. I never   called it “the curse.” I would say, “I have my period, do you have an extra tampax?” or something like that.

Once, after a night out and being a little tipsy, I couldn’t find my tampax! I tried and tried but the more anxious I became, the more impossible it was to do it. Finally, I went to get my date (now my husband) who was waiting in the bedroom.

Now, for you gals in Texas, it’s time to leave. You’re never going to be able to handle this. Scram! Shoo!

Okay, so then, my gracious date told me to lay down and relax. He would find it for me. I will never forget how gentle he was.   Gentle, confident, and manly. Manly enough to remove the tampax and go throw it away like a gentleman. I felt my heart go CLUNK. This was a man in a million. I fell in love right there, right then. Nineteen years later, he is still the only man whose hands I want on me. Except for Johnny Depp, of course.

I always loved having my period. It’s messy but sensual. It reminds you that you are a woman. It reminds you of the cycles of nature, the moon and the tides.

Where does the fear and loathing come from, ladies of Texas??

If you would like to share your memories or point of view and you can do so without being a slobbering lunatic, jump in.

If you’ve been following your celebrity gossip, you know that Brad and Angie sleep in separate beds, and that Angie is a controlling psycho who giggles when the kids cry.

I have a very special secret to tell you, that you can’t repeat to anyone: No one knows anything about Brad and Angie!

As a highly skilled tabloid journalist, I can tell you that each and every cover story on Brad and Angelina is (shhh!) complete fiction. The fights, the reconciliations, the secret calls to Jen, the arguments, the wedding plans, the ‘real’ relationship, the family dynamics…..all of it made up, for   you, the valued reader of Us, In Touch, Okay, Star, etc etc.

Sometimes, when there’s no story to make up, the resourceful journalist will have to divulge Angie’s Shocking Diet, or Brad’s Bedtime Phone-calls to the Kids. Sometimes, you just have to channel Brad or Angie. When he’s away making a movie, Angie is withdrawn. Or else maybe she’s bonding with Brad’s mom! Or, no, she’s fighting with Brad’s mom.

Whenever I read something exceptionally stupid and far-fetched about Brad and Angie (or any big celebrity) I can’t help feeling perversely envious of the writer who came up with such a whopping lie, thinking, Fuck! Why didn’t I ever think of that angle!

I totally admire the writer who came up with this one, at ShowbizSpy, about Angie’s lesbitious crush on Johnny Depp‘s wife, Vanessa Paradis:

“Angelina,” the source tells American tabloid the National Enquirer, “just loves Vanessa’s raw, natural beauty, and has always said how lucky Johnny is to have landed her. “Who knows? Maybe she wants more than friendship with her?”

Genius! Go check it out.

Yes, we love his work for Nina Ricci and for Rochas before that, but let’s just love him for being beautiful. I believe he is on a par with Johnny Depp, if that’s not too sacrilegious a statement.

Thank you, Olivier, for not cutting your hair.