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Usually we end these kinds of days by revealing who will be cast in our hypothetical Lifetime movie. But today, we feel a distinct lack of consensus. This bothers us. We are traumatized children, who need closure. And pictures of hand bras. So we present the finalists for the Britney Spears television movie. Vote, don't vote. We'll just say this: Casting directors, you owe us a round of cocaine and hookers.

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Bored at work? Also breathing? Yes, we are psychic. And while we can’t offer you a new job, we can offer you this treasure chest of bootie-shaking video clips. Take this woman in the above picture, for instance. She actually falls off the stage AND KEEPS SHAKING HER BOOTIE. That’s the kind of fire we like to see in a Spring Break exhibitionist. Keep this up, little lady, and one day YOU could be a Pussycat Doll. (Thanks to Cathy at City Rag for the link!)

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• member1516955: Ironically, the techniques outlined also apply, and work very well, when parenting.


• member1503420 Please Tell Rosie she's fired. I look up to you as a leader, she is well beneath your [sic] caliper.


• member1543762 I fired Trump last night...I pointed to him on the t.v. and said "You're Fired!”

Earlier this week, our pals at Screengrab posted some of the most terrifying behind-the-scenes footage we’ve seen since the Anna Nicole clown tapes. We counted 25 uses of the f-bomb in this spat between Lily Tomlin and I Heart Huckabee’s director David O. Russell. There are 17 uses in the next clip, and only one of them is from Dustin Hoffman. We’ve always liked Russell and Tomlin, but these clips are making us rock gently in a corner. Hot water burn baby, hot water burn baby.


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• My name is Alfredo. I am the Love Poet.


• Great Poems about Sex on Slate.


• Bestest Everest Bukowski


• Did you know that poetry as an art form may pre-date literacy?


• The Poetry Foundation - Articles, podcasts, blogs, poem finder and more.


• A proper WPD celebration demands an Emo Haiku Generator.

Riding a wave of positive press in light of his ex’s recent stumbles, the unsinkable Kevin Federline wants us to know he is a real artist. An artist with his own search engine, Play With Fire, which offers daily prizes when you Search With Kevin. The site is powered by Yahoo! But last time we checked, Yahoo! wasn’t giving away trips to K-Fed’s birthday bash. (Or were they???) Hey, at least this man refuses to rest on a gimmick.

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The Hollywood Reporter, um, reports: “In the wake of a public outcry against Los Angeles billboards and New York taxicab tops advertising the upcoming movie ‘Captivity’ with images of the abduction, torture and death of a young woman, After Dark Films said it will take down the offending ads by 2 p.m. today.”

Tell us this: Where we these concerned citizens during the run of Norbit?

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Remember that Phoenix New Times story about Anna Nicole Smith’s Native American love child? It was a hoax. Ooh, burn! They totally satirized the Anna Nicole media circus with a 3,000-word purple-prose cover story paid for by hooker personals and full-page Vodka ads. You know, back in our alt-weekly days, we pulled these shenanigans. But at least we had the common decency to do it on April Fools.

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Maybe we're just shallow. But did you have any idea Dennis Kucinich's wife was this hot??? (Thanks to Hannah, who read this story for the article.)

UPDATE:We’re ready to upgrade our feelings about Kucinich’s hot wife from curious to straight-up fascinated. Further research has uncovered this about the statuesque redheaded lass (from an article titled, OH YES, “How Kucinich Found Love”): “She grew up in the 1980s in the tiny English village of North Ockendon, in a cottage where Pea Lane meets Dennis Lane. At Maytree Cottage, she planted flowers, listened to her mother read stories by the wood stove in the winter, and with her younger sister tended stray animals.”) The first one to find her Maxim spread wins a prize. Okay, the first one to SHOOT her Maxim spread wins a prize.

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And so, today, Britney Spears checked out of rehab, and our long national nightmare is over. It’s been a wild six months, no? The divorce, the crotch shots, and something about her hair. Do you recall? We’ll just Google it later. Hopefully someone wrote about it. The narrative arc of Brit’s triumphant/possibly-not-triumphant return reminds us of something, however. It’s a little thing we like to call A LIFETIME MOVIE.

Casting Britney Spears? Now that is a tall order. Here is what we need: We need someone who can sing. We need someone who can dance. We need someone who can fluctuate by about 30 pounds. She also has to be—and this is very important—a crack lip-syncher. (Shaved pubis? Wouldn’t hurt.) So who has the panache, the moves, the CHUTZPAH to play Britney Spears? YOU TELL US.

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An organism evolves despite 40 million years without sex. Surprisingly, it is not the Cheneys.

DC madam’s little black book sure has the capital city in a tizzy, but is the dirt gonna be that good?

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind becomes the future, as scientists test drugs that erase bad memories. Like Jim Carrey’s last movie.

A fatty diet in women may increase the risk of breast cancer. However, a fatty diet in women may also increase the chance of deliciousness.

Scientists find the beginning of morality in primate behavior. Which is why you should be sympathetic, and pick these gnats off our head.



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It’s 2pm. Are you ready for this much awesomeness? Wow, where to begin with the Turkish Star Wars? First of all, what is up with all the jumping? This Luke Skywalker has springs for feet. (And clothes from Members Only.) Second, we’ve seen better costumes on Halloween night at the seniors center. But all of this is trumped by the giant red plushies. Especially at about minute 2:30 and again at 4:00, when Turkish Luke dismantles them like a pinata. What, no candy? We don't know what's happening, and we totally don't care. Best Star Wars ever.

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Think the Dance Dance Revolution has passed? Think again. It’s only gotten much, much smaller. Now take to the dance floor in the comfort of your cubicle via the USB DDR finger dance mat. Bonus: This also works as a full-size dance mat for Leprechauns, dancing mice, and Elijah Wood! (via Neatorama)

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Oh, the carnies. They get such a bad rap! After all the work they’ve done lugging those ferris wheels from town to town, adjusting their glass eyes, removing all the dead bodies from view. But the Illinois carnies may be cleaning up their act. To boot:

“Illinois sex offenders working as carnies may soon have to quit their jobs. The House Thursday voted 110-0 to approve a plan that would prohibit sex offenders from working any jobs at county fairs where children would be present. It now goes to the Senate.”

But wait. Who would work the county fairs then?


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This softcore porn park in South Korea fairly one-ups traditional modernist sculpture:

““Love Land’ is a theme park, about the size of two soccer fields, located in the north of Cheju Island. And it's crammed with soft porn memorabilia—statues, photographs, and sculptures that seem like something halfway between a post-modern version of those temple phalluses and a Jeff Koons installation—just more trashy, if that's possible.”

George Michael, have we got the perfect vacation spot for you. (Thanks to Giulia for the link.)


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As an entertainment writer, we’ve found one of the easiest, and most embarrassing, gaffes is to switch one of these Jacks for the other. Your expert opinions on Get Behind Me, Satan will be vastly undercut if you refer to the frontman as the satirist from Tenacious D. Your review of Nacho Libre will be not really have weight if you suggest it stars the White Stripes lead singer. And so on and so on. Still, it’s hard not to swap them unconsciously. They're like characters in a children’s fable: Jack White, Jack Black. But in this story, neither is evil, neither is pure, and both rock the fucking house. ENOUGH PONTIFICATION YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO ALREADY.

Who would you rather: Jack White or Jack Black?

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Tracing the evolution of cigarette ads from sexy to lethal: “In contrast to the symbol of death and disease it is today, from the early 1900s to the 1960s the cigarette was a cultural icon of sophistication, glamour and sexual allure — a highly prized commodity for one out of two Americans.”

A third of the people in the nation’s capital are functionally illiterate. And that’s just in the White House!

The secondary judge in the Anna Nicole case busted for pot. Hey, he wanted some attention, too.

So you love the Geico cavemen. They’re hi-larious! But seriously, now. Do you think they need their own television show?

Saddam’s former deputy is having the last day ever.

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Please don’t view the following story as an endorsement. When it comes to phallic lotions and potions, Steve Martin’s All-Natural Penis Beauty Cream will always be number one in our hearts. HOWEVER. This press release for a product called “RestoreMax” is too good not to be quoted:

So, wow: 300. There hasn’t been a movie this deliciously homoerotic since Spartacus. All those Greek soldiers prancing around in contour eyeshadow and codpieces. A Persian god-king who looks like a lost member of Culture Club. Is it a good movie? We’ll leave that to the critics. Do we love it? YES WE DO. You’d have to pay good money at a Chippendales to see this kind of over-the-top man meat, and don’t worry if you hit for the other team. There’s some women in this film whose nipples could cut glass. Look, we’ll say this much: It’s not the script that’s landing this film at the number-one spot for the
second week running. Have you seen all those washboard abs? Better question: Can you get them out of your mind?

And for that, they are our Crush of the Week.


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George W. Bush or naked boobies--which image is more vulgar? That's the question prompted by this art project, in which porn star Samantha Sterlyng projects images of the Bush administration onto her naked body. Did you catch that? NAKED. So be careful where the bossman is when you watch this.

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Poor Real World. Twenty years old, and already washed up. Not sure about you, but we haven’t watched the show since hot-tub threesomes became as de rigeur as fighting over who washes the dishes. Those seven strangers could welcome each other with rim jobs, and we wouldn’t blink. Which is why it is newsworthy (somewhat!) that for the show’s 20th—and possibly final!—season, Real World is “searching for cast members with career and life goals that they want to pursue in a major metropolitan city.” Of course, by “life goals” they mean “tolerance for body shots” and by “career goals” they mean “wouldn’t mind a strap-on.” Okay, MTV, here’s a suggestion from the peanut gallery: Try banning booze from the house. That’s when these people really stop being polite.


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Lately, the posters for the movie Pride have been plastered around Manhattan. Shirtless guy in the center, phallic image to his left, dreamy Terrence Howard, all those swirly shapes. This is a gay movie, right? We mean, this is so gay it’s practically on Logo. Right?

Well, no, as it turns out. It’s a movie about a high school swimming coach who helps troubled students get to the state championship. Umm, somebody in advertising needs to fired. OR PROMOTED.

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If you are like us, then your computer cords are always getting tangled. If you are like us, you resolve this problem by tugging impatiently, throwing things at the wall, and watching reality television. Fortunately for us, there is a neat little gadget that neatly illustrates modern man’s technological conundrum AND sexual fetish. Nice trick. (via BoingBoing.)

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Scanner has previously brought you stories of some warped sex-ed lessons. There was the one in which a rose is passed around the room, and each boy plucks off a petal until nothing remains but the raw, empty stem. “And this,” (we’re paraphrasing), “is what happens to a woman each time you have sex with her.” A recent story in the Washington Post talks about an abstinence lesson in which a brick is dangled over the genitals of male students. (Fortunately, after this exercise, the boys were honorary members of SigEp.)

So here’s a question for the table: What’s the most ridiculous sex-ed lesson you endured?

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Not sure about you, but when we saw Friday’s news of an improbable Jeopardy! three-way, we weren’t thinking a three-way tie. No, our minds drifted to a soundstage in Burbank where contestants were running their fingers through Alex Trebek’s mustache. Someone on the panel would be left out—because in a threeway, someone always is—and the only good news for that contestant is that he’d go home with a toaster over and a night’s stay at the Grand Hyatt. Meanwhile, two sexy eggheads would be creatively using their buzzers and teaching Alex Trebek the true meaning of Double Jeopardy. Sigh. Well, anyway, the rematch airs today.

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A mix of provocative and pious has made True.com one of the most visited dating sites on the web: “‘I want to make sure that our members have a wholesome environment for courtship,’ said Herb Vest, True’s 63-year-old founder and chief executive. Apparently, that starts with using hot, scantily clad models in the ads.

General Pace’s comments last week point to the new fight over gays in the military.

Laughing all the way to the court: Carol Burnett sues the Family Guy for copyright infringement.

The story of female soldiers in Iraq: coping with violence, sexual assault, rape, and other traumas.

Pet food recall makes crazy cat ladies go even crazier.


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Nearly 40% of Japanese citizens ages 16-49 haven’t had sex in over 30 days, and a recent survey by the Japan Family Planning Association says too much work, stress and Interneting are to blame.

The survey also talks about a decline in “physical communication skills,” which we’re interpreting to mean that most guys would rather text their avatar girlfriend than chat up a real live honey after an evening of squid shooters and karaoke. Sad stuff.

Photo from the Hello Kitty love hotel in Osaka, Japan. Read more here, perverts.—Erin Bradley


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A Florida sheriff dressed in a leprechaun suit has been doling out tickets to leadfoot motorists since 8am this morning. Of course, a real leprechaun would be passed out by the side of the road with his pants down and clutching an empty pint of Guinness, but let’s not tell Deputy Lockman. He and Mrs. Lockman are looking forward to a little role-playing at the end of his shift.

More little green guy news: A Jewish attorney has been chosen as “Grand Leprechaun” for the Dublin, Ohio St. Patrick’s Day parade. Says 70-year-old A.C. Strip:

“Roses are red/Violets are bluish/A Leprechaun told me/St. Patrick was Jewish.”

Oy vey. That’s enough to make you puke up your Shamrock shake. Read the full story here. —Erin Bradley


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We had embedded this short, mildly humorous little video for a few hours, but it very annoyingly insisted on playing every time the page opened. We did not like this. Did it bother you, too? Anyway, if you want to see the video you can see it here. All apologies.

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On one side of the planet, a comedian best known for harem pants and a long, dangly earring is rumored to be dead. He isn’t. A nation mourns. On probably the same side of the planet, a penny in which Abe Lincoln sports a pirate earring is auctioned on eBay. (Current bid: Two bucks and change.) Is this a coincidence? We think not. Evidence? Don’t need it. We believe in our bellies that one-earringed pirates have taken over the internets in a slow-building attempt to bring the one-earringed man back into fashion. DON’T LET THEM HAVE THEIR WAY. Or, let them have their way. In which case, we have about six unpaired dangly earrings you can so totally have.

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You love them, we love them: They’re the Kinkiest Movies of All Time, via our pals at Screengrab. And now, let us bathe in the soft blue glow and appreciate the glory, the beauty, the perfection that is James Fucking Spader.

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Redheads do it better and blondes really do have more fun. On syndicated TV, anyway. Your job is to tell us which of these dark-haired lovelies you’d wed, which one you’d screw, and which one you’d rather see offed in a mysterious accident with Miss Clairol as the prime suspect.

Remember this is a game of forced choice, which means you must assign one answer to each individual and no answer can be repeated twice.—Erin Bradley

Marry, Fuck, or Kill?

a. Velma (Scooby Doo)

b. Janet (Three’s Company)

c. Mary Ann (Gilligan’s Island)

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There’s a war in Iraq and misery in the Middle East, but at least we can all agree on one thing: Showgirls is the best movie ever made. Greater than Greater than Citizen Kane? Greater than Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo? Yes, YES, we say. After all, what is “Rosebud” up against, “Bitch, I’m telling you the truth!” Don’t even get us started. We’ll be quoting Nomi Malone for days.

Where is all this going? It’s going here: Papparazzi get in a tizzy while porn star Marey Carey (that’s MAREY, not Mariah) lifts up her BFF’s dress to show us what’s for dinner. Her friend? Actress Rena Riffel, aka Penny from Showgirls, aka the greatest screen actress of her generation. Just remember: Whatever shameful thing you did last night—whatever horrors you wrought upon yourself and this great country—this was not you.

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Nerve invites you to dig through your attic for the First Annual Sex Tapes Roadshow!

We know you all have pornographic detritus kicking around from past relationships: that low-light sex tape you made on vacation, those naked Polaroids, the artistic nude shots your ex took of you in bed. We also know you probably want to know if, in this era of celebrity sex tapes and tabloid bidding wars, your amateur efforts have any cash value. Well, our experts can put a value on that grainy DV encounter! We aren't actually buying anything, but we may post photos or screenshots (stars' identities obscured) along with a dollar amount, and wouldn't it be good to know if that 1992 romp appraises at $5,000 or $.05?

So, quick, go dig through your attic (quick! The deadline is May 1, 2007) and send what you've got along to sextapesroadshow@nerve.com. (You can send a link to videos posted on, say, YouTube or XTube.)

or mail to: ST Roadshow, Nerve.com, 520 Broadway 9th Floor, New York, NY 10012

If you want materials returned, please include a SASE. And if a celebrity is involved, please specify.


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Joan Rivers has said that when she stares into her crotch she sees Willie Nelson. We should point out that many woman stare into their crotches and see the actual Willie Nelson, but that’s only because the South By Southwest festival is going on. We have it on good authority that Willie is quite a tiger in the sack, by the way. (And by “good authority,” we mean “heard it at a bar once.”) The guy lasts as long as Springsteen onstage; you can imagine his sexual endurance. But the point of this is that someone has illustrated Mizz Rivers coochie. Why? Because this is America, dammit. You can see it here.

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How American Apparel might become the next Gap. A dirty-sexy Gap, with sweatbands.

A new book on the Clintons claims more affairs for Bill.

The internets tells lies? Wikipedia falsely reports Sinbad’s death. Sinbad quite tickled.

“Hey kids, do drugs.” Cleveland Cavaliers center apologizes for a momentary bout of sarcasm.

Baptist leader makes a lot of people mad asserting children might be born homosexual. Even the people who agree with him.





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When we sat down this morning with stars in our eyes and coffee in our mugs, we certainly weren’t expecting this Cleveland Scene story on Amish teens busting out at the bars.

“Martha sits down with a Bud and bums a cigarette. Her cherub face is framed by a starched bonnet, her squat figure submerged in a dowdy dress. As Akon sings about slapping gyrating butts, Tina and Martha lip-synch, bouncing their bonnets to the beat.”

Now that’s a rumspringa worthy of a reality show. We do need to warn you: The pictures are totally, totally safe for work, which may come as something of a disappointment.


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What do Holden Caulfield and Michael Jackson have in common?

Peter Pan syndrome, a psychological disorder characterized by “immaturity or certain sorts of psychological, social, and sexual problems” manifesting primarily in adult males, i.e. this guy on Craigslist who’s inviting women to come play in his “totally dope” blanket fort. Here’s an except:

”I have vast resources of cushions for anchoring and blankets in order to maximize square footage. My living room is just waiting to be turned into a totally sweet labyrinth of love.”

Whatever you say, dude. We’re still bringing our pepper spray. While we’re on the subject of blanket forts, where the hell was this invention when we were growing up? Kids today. So spoiled. --Erin Bradley

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It’s ridiculous, this idea that you’re somehow preserving female modesty by exposing everything but the areolae. But for celebrities it represents tasteful nudity and it’s pretty much the entire business model for Maxim magazine. So we’re pleased to tell you that you, too, can get in on this tit-related trend with HandBra, the latest innovation in skeezy lingerie.

Buy yours now for the bargain basement price of $7 dollars and have your publicist send out some glossies. You’re a few fingers away from the big time, baby. --Erin Bradley


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Back up, folks. It’s official. Nerve has been nominated for a 2007 National Magazine Award in the “interactive feature” category for our Film Lounge. This is the Big Time. Our esteemed fellow nominees ain’t too shabby, either: Mother Jones, National Geographic, nymag.com, Newsweek.com. Oh, and possibly, Sanjaya from American Idol. Go team! (BTW, if you’re wondering what that picture is, it’s an Ellie, the National Magazine Award. And it would go perfectly with the sex toys on our mantelpiece!)

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Umm, okaaaay. So we never thought we'd link to a John Quinones Primetime story, but this video about parents who manage their daughter's porn business was just too interesting. MOM: "I got to see my daughter on Playboy TV, the very first time. She did it! I can't believe it!" DAD: "I was like, well, dreams do come true."

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Snoop Dogg is not having the best week ever. Reports that he was busted in Sweden on drug charges may or may not be true. And now we hear, via PopBitch, that there is a lookalike gay porn star out there biting his style. Well, if you check out this oh-so-NSFW shot, you’ll see that somebody wants to be biting something.

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We admit to something of a soft-spot for the homespun hominess of homeboy Garrison Keillor. Not that we’d admit that in public. Wait, did we just blog this? But we’re puzzled, irritated, annoyed, and possibly hungry after reading this portion of his column in yesterday’s Salon:

“The country has come to accept stereotypical gay men -- sardonic fellows with fussy hair who live in over-decorated apartments with a striped sofa and a small weird dog and who worship campy performers and go in for flamboyance now and then themselves. If they want to be accepted as couples and daddies, however, the flamboyance may have to be brought under control. Parents are supposed to stand in back and not wear chartreuse pants and black polka-dot shirts. That's for the kids. It's their show.”

Advice on not hogging the spotlight from a man who made his living writing memoirs? And that’s the news from Lake Wobegone.


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80s nostalgia is played-out and boring. Oh my God, remember parachute pants? I had, like, eight Cabbage Patch kids. Transformers were AWESOME! Shut it.

But of all the libs (women’s, Scooter, inconsequential third-string political party), MAD LIBS are our favorite. So grab a pen, fill out this list, and match up the numbers with the paragraph below. We know this isn't the ideal format, but you can make it work. Hey, no peeking!

CELEBRITY MAD LIBS: A REHAB STORY

(1)___________________ woke up naked with (2)___________________ next to an empty bottle of (3)___________________ and realized that life had become unmanageable. They had a (4)___________________ addiction to (5)___________________ and it was destroying their (6)___________________. Never one to (7)___________________, they checked into (8)___________________, got (9)___________________ and signed a deal to appear on (10)___________________.

Now post your masterpiece in the Feedback section and get back to work. Those fully integrated enterprise eCommerce software solutions aren’t going to sell themselves. --Erin Bradley

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When we look at this picture, all we hear is the White Stripes song: "I've been thinking about my doorbell / When you gonna ring it? When you gonna ring it?" Oh, this poor beast. He must have known something was up when the lady doctor told him, "Turn to the left and bbbbrrrrinnng!" (via Say No To Crack)

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We’d be remiss if we didn’t mention that the line at your local Starbucks just got longer, as everyone’s favorite granita chain is giving away free java till noon. That’s right! Your $4 cup o' joe will now cost you zero dollars. Drink up. You’ve got a long day ahead.

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Are you ready for the post-abortion e-card?

A record number of men reported sexual harrassment in the workplace last year.

Angelina Jolie adopts a baby from Vietnam. She won’t stop till she has a baker’s dozen, or at least a traveling band.

Gay male parents get their own fertility program, and about three-quarters pay extra to select the gender.

Old, but interesting: For 14 years, bisexual students at Grinnell College have received creepy messages from an unknown source. Finally, a journalist tracks down the culprit.

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