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In Space, No One Can Hear Heidi Montag Sound Like Shit
Posted by Seth at 7:20 AM on August 27, 2008
There will come a day—maybe not in the near future, or even the distant future, but perhaps thousands and thousands of years from now—when the significance of the early 21st Century pop-cultural phenomenon known as The Hills will make itself fully known. At that time, trillions of shipbound lifeforms coasting through the universe will already have been hard at work, tending slavishly to their Heidi and Spencer Pratt Solemnity Shrines and anointing young LC-alikes in dabs of Suddenly, Audrina—the most seductively floral of all Official The Hills Scents—before sacrificing the virgins to the mighty reality Gods ensconced atop Mt. Bolthouse. Doing so will inch them ever closer to utter and complete, like, enlightenment. In the meantime, however, artifacts like the one above will remain nothing but mysteries, wrapped in enigmas, stuffed into leotards, and adorned with deeply symbolic terrycloth headbands. Tomorrow never dies. We wanna live forever. Let us hear your bodies talk.
There will come a day—maybe not in the near future, or even the distant future, but perhaps thousands and thousands of years from now—when the significance of the early 21st Century pop-cultural phenomenon known as The Hills will make itself fully known. At that time, trillions of shipbound lifeforms coasting through the universe will already have been hard at work, tending slavishly to their Heidi and Spencer Pratt Solemnity Shrines and anointing young LC-alikes in dabs of Suddenly, Audrina—the most seductively floral of all Official The Hills Scents—before sacrificing the virgins to the mighty reality Gods ensconced atop Mt. Bolthouse. Doing so will inch them ever closer to utter and complete, like, enlightenment. In the meantime, however, artifacts like the one above will remain nothing but mysteries, wrapped in enigmas, stuffed into leotards, and adorned with deeply symbolic terrycloth headbands. Tomorrow never dies. We wanna live forever. Let us hear your bodies talk.
That thrilling rite of reality TV passage—the running of the Z-list celebs down the streets of Pomona and into the Dancing with the Stars studios for an unforgettable season of Mambos and Cha-Chas, marred infrequently by the occasional rogue-sequin blinding—is again underway, friends. Let's get right down to it. Here is 
A press release from Lifetime touts a new slate of unscripted entertainments from the cable network. While we're certain the kitchen island therapy of Mom's Cooking and the ladies-only seances going down over at clairvoyant Lisa Williams's show are sure to connect with their audience, it's their third announced series—what some might call a calculated attempt at jumping on the 
Newsflash! The producers of Karaoke Borg American Idol have done the unthinkable: They have decided to tinker with the magical Idol judging formula America has come to rely on. In addition to the Really Bitchy One, the Inarticulate Gang-Sign-Delivering One, and the Alternately Effusive, Incoherent, and Flat-Out-Unconscious One, we can now look forward to the Non-Jaded Songwriter Who Doesn't Spend Most of the Auditions Fantasizing About Traceless Ways To Snuff Ryan Seacrest Out of Existence One. Let's let the Fox press release explain!
We love nothing more than a fairy tale ending, and we got one on last night's Big Brother, when—amidst the tragedy of contestant April's ejection from their 24-hour surveillance Eden— surviving housemate and 
Lamas Family acting dynasty heiress Shayne Lamas may not have 
Whatever investment we still had in Project Runway—the once-great, now-irritating sartorial decathlon presided over with an iron fist by Teutonic Sealfucker Heidi Klum—it was quickly sapped away by last (
It's been 
· This has got to be some kind of new low: Join in the fun as Tori Spelling's party guests crowd into the bathroom to watch husband Dean McDermott try out the new features on their high-tech wondercrapper. You'll be glad you did! [
