Friday, December 30, 2005

2005 Year End Pirate Awards, Part Deux

(If you haven't checked it out, Part I here)


(image via piratehaus)

And now to finish things up with The Corsair "Pirate Awards." The final installment of this year in bitchery:


Pussy power. (image via seventhirty)

Best Kiss and Tell: Superhead's Memoir. Karrine "Superhead" Steffans; we have to crack a smileand stifle a crisp chuckle even while saying it out loud. She was, until this year, the best kept secret in the recording industry; blowing -- on the DL -- such industry heavyweights as Fred Durst. (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment) What is even more amusing is saying "Superhead, New York Times bestselling author." (Averted Gaze) We said: "The Corsair has been following the torrid media advance of Karrine Steffans, AKA 'Superhead,' with a certain suave mischiviousness. Today, our favorite superhero gossip duo, Rush and Molloy excerpt some of the choicer morsels of her sex life pre-Bill Maher (Eew), who, BTW, prefers 'dark meat' in his chickenheads a l'orange:'After inviting her to his home at 4 a.m., Sean (P. Diddy) Combs kicked his manservant Fonzworth Bentley out of a guest bedroom so he and Steffans could spend 15 minutes making love. 'You're one of the best,' she says P. Diddy told her. Steffans writes: 'I said the same to him, when, in actuality, he was average.' Ouch."

15 minutes making love? 15 minutes doesn't even make a decent blog post.


Oops! You got caught, now, didn't you. (image via sina)

The "Skank You Very Much" Pirate Goes to: Steven Segal. We said: "Apparently, bloated former action star and alleged CIA agent Steven Seagal smells like aromatherapy. See, we thought he smelled like an admixture of musky body odor and Hai Karate aftershave lotion. According to Lloyd Grove's Lowdown:

"Action actor Steven Seagal struck out with Playboy model-actress Christa Campbell when he allegedly auditioned her years ago. Campbell claims Seagal used a casting couch on the Warner Bros. lot. 'All of a sudden he reaches over and starts to massage my shoulders and starts hinting while he's rubbing me,' she tells Chaunce Hayden of Steppin' Out mag."

"'He reeked of this aromatherapy oil! I wanted to gag! � So I freaked out and ran out of the room. He ran after me and begged me not to tell anybody. He said, Please don't tell anybody! Please don't tell anybody! � He thinks he's still the man, but he doesn't realize that he's fat and disgusting and he smells like aromatherapy.' Seagal's rep, who says the story's false and Seagal never heard of Campbell, retorted: 'Whoever this woman is, she's clearly using her foul mouth to get attention.'

"A similar story is told about former Playmate Jenny McCarthy by'...A flustered McCarthy ... was driven to tears when the portly slimeball actor Steven Seagal attempted to get McCarthy to disrobe to prove she was worthy of the part he wanted her in with Under Siege 2. McCarthy angrily told him 'rent my [Playboy] video, you asshole!' and stormed off the set."

Charmed, I'm sure. (Averted Gaze)


The Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter.

The Party of the Year Pirate Goes to Barry Diller. We said: "Oh, how we love our Page Sixxies, the clever guardians of the twin adamantine Gates of Fama and Fortuna, (The Corsair guillotines, then elegantly sparks up a Vegas Robaina Clasicos) who report so dutifully on what the elegant blogger James Wolcott called Graydo's Morton's bash, and, by implication, all Oscar bashes, namely "The Satyricon."

"Only, this particular Page Six Satyricon wasn't Vanity Fair's infamous prestige party, no, no, no, true believers -- VF's bash was so very "first room" -- rather, this one was hosted by the "Arbiter Eligentiae" of the American -- not Roman -- Empire, Our ... Barry Diller, joyful HomeShopping Network pagan that he is, spewing black "Pan passions." (The Corsair sips the black wine of Cahors, elixir of Popes) And what not:"OF all the Oscar parties, the best might be the lunch Barry Diller and Diane von Furstenberg threw the day before at their splendid estate in Coldwater Canyon. It was the ultimate mix of east and west, with guests lounging on Persian carpets and pillows arranged on a sunswept lawn, devouring roast duck, sausages and pasta."

"Persian carpets? Sausages and roast duck? Did boys from Alexandria "pour snow water on the hands" of the guests? Such Imperial Overreaching Excess asks -- no, demands -- to be roasted on a "bonfire of the humanities," so to speak; and who, my dear readers, is more qualified that I, The Corsair, to have at such a lush and fertile target with my snarky abandon?Having said that, We cannot fail to note here the passing resemblance of Diller's fete to our favorite scene from our favorite Ancient novel -- the first Western novel ever, in fact -- you guessed it, Petronius' "Satyricon," known to all Classical Greek Geeks like The Corsair as "Trimalcho Feast."Quien es mas macho? Whose bash was the more decadent, more redolent of the overripe aromas of the zenith of an arrogant Empire? Trimalchio or Diller?"

We'll go with The excellent Barry Diller. (More here)


In 2005 moviegoers bitchslapped slapped the simian halfsmirk off Michael Bay's puss. (image via

Best Consumer Bitchslap Goes to: Michael Bay. Oh, how the arrogant have fallen. Once upon a time Hollywood could pawn shit off to consumers if they put enough marketing behind it. Then came "Pearl Harbor," and then came "The Island." We said: "Let's face it, movie blockbusters just haven't been the same since that fluffy director with the oh-so-studied studied half-smirk on his face, Michael Bay foisted Pearl Harbor on an unsuspecting moviegoing public, thus forever fucking up the summer blockbuster mojo started, honorably, by Spielberg's Jaws in 1975.Hoo boy, that film stunk.Note to Michael Bay: Ben Affleck is a cinematic jinx (And, what's more, extremely "unprofessional")! Ben Affleck couldn't act his way out of a bad hair weave! Allegedly.Michael Bay may have, with the release of Pear Harbor (Averted Gaze), surpassed that infamous Japanese launch in raw film bombage.Still, his new summer movie, The Island, will most probably claim ownership the box office this weekend before word-of-mouth kills it like a dirty yellow dog. Ewan McGregor plus expert social climber Scarlett Johansson plus some big ole "Michael Bay Explosions" (tm) equals "summer fun," if you go in for that sort of thing (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment).


(Koons via thinkquest)

The "Perhaps That's Why Dad Shot Bubbles" Pirate Goes to: Jacko. And we thought Joe Jackson gunned down Bubbles, brutally, for humping his bleached freak of a son. Quite the contrary. We said: "Maureen 'Mo Money' Orth gives us a highly idiosyncratic exposition of the Jacko trial at, along with the requisite graphic representation of Simian bowel evacuation:'I have been chronicling Jackson's downward spiral for 12 years and have sat in the courtroom for most of the trial. Even though the case is constantly in the press even re-enacted daily on E! Entertainment Television there are sinister parts of it that were designed to influence the jury without their knowledge. A host of sleazy characters have surrounded the tarnished icon, and his world is full of dark undercurrents. We saw 135 witnesses from stand-up comics to a maid who had to scrub the feces of Bubbles, the pet chimpanzee, off Jackson's bedroom walls.'"

TMI, Maureen Orth; TMI!


(image via msn)

Best Colonic Story Pirate: Usher. We said: "One of the best interviews we've ever read concerning Usher is in the Complex December/January issue on sale now. Here's a taste:"Complex: I heard you get a monthly colonic to clean out your colon. Is that true?

"Usher: Nah man. I mean yeah ..."

"As you can see, we're off to a rocking start. Break it down for us, Ush:

"Usher: ... I had a colonic before but not no shit like that. Not no monthly thing. Hell no. Someone who travels alot like I do, while you're on the road, flying over to Africa and eating meats in certain places, you don't always eat the way you should and a lot of waste builds up in your body. That's why I did it."

"Hm. We sense shame. Why is Ush veering into the second person? "While you're on the road," and, "a lot of waste builds up in your body." What goes on in Africa stays in Africa, Ush.

"Complex: Doesn't that procedure involve having a tube inserted into your rectum? It all sounds pretty painful, brother."

"Usher: It aint no shit you're gonna be proud of, I'll tell you that."

(A considerable pause)


(image via shabakatvoltaire)

Best Shawshank Redemtion Moment: Judith Miller in the Big House. We said: "Taking one for the team and going to jail to protect the identity of a source isn't intrinsically funny. Not in the least. But that doesn't stop us from trying. On the principle that the first rule of comedy is that nothing is off limits, this:Behind These Walls (Narrated in a whiny singsongy voice by Maureen Dowd)

"Narrator: She was smiling ... That's right. You know, that, that Judith smile of hers. She had it on her face right to the very end. Hell, if they didn't know it 'fore, they could tell right then that they weren't a-gonna beat her. That old Judith smile. Her first night in the joint, Judith Miller cost me two packs of cigarettes. She never made a sound.

"Next day. 'Fresh fish' line up:

"Guard: Any woman playing grabass or fightin' in the building spends a night in the box. Them clothes got laundry numbers on them. You remember your number and always wear the ones that has your number. Any woman forgets her number spends a night in the box. These here spoons you keep with you. Any woman loses her spoon spends a night in ...

"Judith: ...the box.

"Guard: I hope you ain't going to be a hard case.

"Judith: [Smiles, shakes head] .

More here.


(image via

The Racially Ambiguous Pirate: Vin Diesel. Hand down. We know that he heroically came to the aid of Kirstie Alley, pre-Trimspa (His PR people are, at the very least, quite swift). But we still have no fucking idea what his ethnicity is (Italian? African-American?). Perhaps that racial ambiguity aids his box office, we say, cynically. We also said: "After Janice Dickinson's allegations that Vin Diesel is a wet, sloppy kisser (eew), we thought we had heard it all about things Dieselish. We're not against a spot of Californication, mind you, especially with reptilian ex-supermodels. But the racially ambiguous action star Vin Diesel is abusing his Actionstar(tm) priviledges, methinks.

"Oddly, Cin Adams gets this scoop. And here we thought she only hung out and ate cruddites with deposed Third World dictators and shit (Averted Gaze). That Cin, always with the surprise! According to Cindy Adams:'VIN DIESEL. Born in '67. Plays rough trade characters. Running hot. And off-screen, lives a young and hot badass lifestyle. Being he's New York-born, I'm not knocking him, understand, just commenting.

"'Take one recent affair at his nifty-looking L.A. home. Now maybe this is the norm and it happens at all his parties. Maybe this was the absolutely only one like this he's ever thrown. I don't know. I only know one of his guests told me about it."All women. Every guest, female. Every single, solitary person admitted was female. No guys � at all � except for his sumo-sized security guards.

"'A newie to the scene, there mostly because she'd heard about his house and wanted to see it, felt uncomfortable. She eyed what she thought were hookers. Not knowing what was coming down, she scooted early.As she left a guard smiled and said: 'Not your type party, right?'"

Nice. (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment)


Strangest Gift Pirate: Kimberly Stewart. What do you get for the boyfriend who has everything? We said: "The Corsair, like his magnificent blog wife, cannot quite grasp why Kimberly Stewart is famous. This little chestnut -- excuse the pun -- throws us even further into confusion. According to the 3AM Girls:'JACK Osbourne's taste in interior decor is a little too er.. personal to be stocked by the supermarket his mum Sharon so convincingly plugs.

"Gracing the teen's wall is a beautifully-framed pair of breast implants that Rod Stewart's daughter Kimberly recently had removed.

"And Kimberly even obliged Jack by signing them for him.Kimberly, 25, who says she had her boob job reversed over health fears, confessed: 'I gave Jack my implants and signed them. He framed them and put them on his wall which is where they are today.'"


(image via skynet)

Sexiest Policy Wonk: Bo Derek. We know that Jane Fonda tried to set her up with her ex, Ted Turner, but it didn't work out. Maybe she digs power over money? We said: "You laugh at the idea that Bo Derek, a woman primarily known for being at one point in time a 'Perfect 10,' with a cold, wet t-shirt action going on, might know the nuanced intricacies of defense policy and weapons systems, but it is true. The Corsair knows.

"We've seen her poring over Jane's Defense News briefs on her PDA. And, quite frankly, she's positively rhapsodic on the subject of CH-146 Griffon helicopters. According to our favorite social chronicler:

"'One of the most humorous sideshows was a table full of Washington insiders including the former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich and his wife Calista, Kennedy Center Life Trustee Kenneth Duberstein, Chief of Staff under President Ronald Reagan, and his wife Jackie who is a producer with Charlie Rose; Washington Post Roxanne Roberts; Barry and Tracey Mansaur from Chicago, and Mandy and Mary Ourisman.

"Mary, a recent presidential-appointed board member, just finished chairing a marathon 3-day Smithsonian event that began at the White House and ended with a black tie dinner at the new National Museum of the American Indian.'Off the record' comments dominated the conversation, but one 'on the record' remark that can be shared was 'I came because it's Sunday and I've already watched Desperate Housewives,' from a chuckling Newt. Do you think Laura Bush got the idea for her speech from him? After dinner, the guests filed into the Concert Hall.

"One could not help but observe the charming side of Defense Secretary Rumsfeld as he chatted with board member and actress Bo Derek. One can only imagine what they discussed."

A Corsair guestimation of the chatter:Bo Derek: Mr. Secretary, with landmines largely off the table, cluster munitions are widely considered to be the most threatening of the remaining ERW categories.

"Secretary Rumsfeld: Yes, the Mine Ban Treaty that arose from the Ottawa Process was quite effective.

"Bo Derek: Now that we are a world empire in a War on Terror, has the Department of Defense supplanted the number one cabinet position previously held by State? By that I mean, we needed a top diplomat-foreign minister when America was an emerging power, and most certainly during the Cold War against the Soviet Union where active military engagement would have meant the end of the world. But now that we bestride the globe as a colossal hegemon, doesn't the Department of Defense trump the olive branch wavers at Foggy Bottom?

"Secretary Rumsfeld: (Serious) That's a very, very astute question. Ask Colin Powell.(both chuckle darkly)

"Bo Derek: Have you read Rothkopf's 'Running The World'? I can't put it down. Last night I read until 5AM. He's definitely hiding his motives. It reads as an 'objective history of the National Security Council,' but -- really -- his biases in favor of Brent Scowcroft and the Internationalists over and against the neocons are there if you know how to look. Then again, you aren't really a neocon, are you Mr. Secretary. You are a Rumsfeldian.

"Secretary Rumsfeld: (Charmed, intrigued) Say, what are you affiliated with? Kissinger Associates? Rand Corporation?

"Bo Derek: Playboy."


The Golden couple, in better days. (image via allstarz)

Favorite Grifter Team: Liz Hurley and Hugh Grant. (Averted Gaze) When we think of Hugh Grant and Liz Hurley we cannot help but remember their arrival on the Hollywood scene during the first Clinton Administration. They were so charming. (Wistful) They sounded like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. He was every director's first choice for the guy-that-the-heroine-gets at the end of the perfect Romantic movie; she busied herself with something called Simian Films.

Then something happened. Things got "seedy." There was an inconvenient hooker involved. Something about a blowjob. Then the succession of stinkers (Making Brendan Frasier the lead actor is never an inspired film choice). Then the breakup. And now, both are in a 180 degree career turns -- the charming Hollywood via Oxford couple have become naught less than high-end whores: She, with millionaire Arun Nayar; he, kept by heiress Jemima Khan. (The Corsair sips an unassuming Montrachet) Granted, being a Hollywood star means, to a degree, engaging in the oldest profession, but that's only when the film is released. Liz and Hugh have gone "Pro" full-time.


(image via nyu)

Best Memoir That Wasn't: Steve Florio. Remember the memoir that wasn't? Steve Florio almost -- almost -- blew the lid off the Gehry cafeteria at Conde Nast? We wrote: "Old soldiers never die, they live on to settle outstanding scores in their trashy memoirs. And in 25 years of publishing the glossiest of the glossies, a lot of enemies can be made by a former lieutenant of Candace Bushnell's 'Mr. Bozack' (winkwink). Although most of the power players involved in Steve Florio's 'memoir-cum-management treatise' (Machiavelli's Prince?) are no longer in power or, worse, are tending sheep in Vermont, it still supposedly sizzles ... somewhat. As much as can be expected, we suppose. (Averted Gaze)

"According to WWD (link via Poynter):'Steve Florio may not call the shots at Conde Nast anymore, but that doesn't mean he's out of ammunition. Clearly, he saved some choice volleys for his book, a memoir-cum-management treatise that draws heavily on his time running business operations first at GQ, then The New Yorker and, finally, across all of Conde Nast ...'... Judging from a pitch and excerpt obtained by WWD, one person who will not be eager to see the book hit shelves is Ron Galotti. In a chapter titled 'Managing Mr. Big,' Florio, now vice chairman, thoroughly disses his former underling � the subject of both his best and worst decisions at Conde Nast. Florio writes, 'The story of Ron Galotti is the story of how celebrity can ruin a perfectly good executive.' As publisher of Vogue (Florio's best decision), he says, Galotti was a brilliantly effective, if at times too aggressive, ad salesman. But after leaving in 1998 to start Talk with Tina Brown, 'Ron started believing his own bulls--t,' Florio writes. Hiring him back to be publisher of GQ in 2001 was 'the worst decision I ever made as president and ceo ... The magazine needed someone with a very steady hand, and Ron didn't have it anymore.'"

Then, just as quickly, Florio told whisky voiced Timesman David Carr he wasn't going to do it. But for a moment, just a moment, this past June: (sotto voce) It was sweet.


(image via

Greatest Question Pirate Goes to: 'Why Can't Washington Women Dress Like Women?' We have asked it in the quiet of our souls for years. Just because there is a proximity to power doesn't mean that women have to start dressing 24/7 like guys. Why the severe hair? Why the overreliance on power suits? Why the rigid demeanor? What happened to softness and curves? We said: "Washington, PJ O'Rourke once mused, is 'Hollywood for the ugly.' Zing. DC, by the way, is not unamused at said unkind remark, hosting, tongue in cheek (no pun intended), a contest for the 'Hottest U.S. Senator' (link via Wonkette). While we will remain silent on the quality of 'USDA prime beefs' among the men rattling sausage in our hallowed nation's capitol (Averted Gaze), DC is not without its share of 'saucy hotties' among the fairer sex.

"Think: Lynda Carter, AKA Wonder Woman.Why this conscious lack of chic -- especially among women -- in the capitol city of the world's greatest Empire? Even Rome had Livia Drusa Augusta, whom the aristocratic historian Tacitus regarded as something of a hot tomato (although, we imagine, not in that exact latinate). DC has a huge percentage of Southern debs, trophy wives, Hollywood starlets with a pet policy issue to foist and, of course, ambitious hotties-paiges on the rise.

"Even Alexandra Jacobs, in the New York Times Book Review, by way of a positive review, said of Jessica Cutler's The Washingtonienne, 'The chicks that flock to the seat of the federal government are generally in search of career advancement, not Christian Louboutin-clad fun. So perhaps the Beltway bunch should be grateful for this lewd, unpretentious valentine to their city.'

"Stephanie Mansfield of the Washington Post digresses from an article on Bo Derek's recent visit to DC to muse on the state of women's dress in the nation's capitol:'Now comes Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice.With her Oscar de la Renta scarlet silk gown, her knee-high boots and long jacket, her pastel Akris suits and jaunty flip, she's making women in Washington watch with a mixture of envy, awe and inspiration.'... Suddenly, people are asking: Why can't Washington women dress, well, more like women?"

An interesting question.


(image via probertencyclopedia)

Most Eccentric Eating Habit/Disorder Pirate Goes to Faye Dunaway. She dun-a-weighs her food. We snatched this fugitive bastard conversation between Alan Cummings and Jamie Kennedy from Hollywood Life Magazine. We said: "Jamie Kennedy: You know Faye (Dunaway)?

"Alan Cummings: I was once Faye's date to the Grammys. I've got such great Faye stories.

"JK: Oh, Faye's brilliant. I love that you went out with Faye. Did you guys make out?

"AC: No, she wouldn't put out.

"JK: (laughs)

"AC: I was going to do this play with her that didn't happen, but I went with her to the Grammy's and you know she does this thing where she weighs her food.

"JK: All the time! She's got this scale she puts her nuts in, she puts her tuna in ...

"AC: We went backstage and she's got these sandwiches and I saw her taking the filling out of the sandwiches, putting it in a paper napkin and I thought, 'Oh dear, what's happening?' So Eminem is coming out and Faye and I go back to our seats in the front row of the Grammy's and the cameras are swirling past us all the time and I hear '30 seconds to air' and I see Faye getting her scales out, taking the ham and cheese and starting to weigh it and I'm like, 'Oh my God, we're going to be on national live television and she's weighing sandwiches.' It's 10 seconds to air and Faye says to me, 'Is this weird?' I said 'I get it, but I think it could be perceived as weird.'"

Part II here.

More The Corsair here.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

The 2005 Year End Corsair Pirate Awards, Part I

Tomorrow, Part II.

For the past 3 years we have presented a snarky rounding up of our view of the nexus of power and culture. This thing of ours. We present to you, humbly, the 2005 edition. Enjoy:


Gobble, gobble. (image via photos1 via

Ahoy! Matey, here she Blows Pirate goes to: Kimora Lee Simmons. Boy, does she blow. The self described "fly bitch" went blonde for part of the year, cleverly diverting media attention from her incresingly disturbing turkey-neck "issues." Or the fact that her ultra-cheesy View-ish talk show Life & Style was canned for lack of flava.


Damn; Does it hurt? (image via thesun)

Worst Plastic Surgery Pirate goes to: Mickey Rourke. His doughy, angry-red face at present resembles the masked Michael Myers in the original "Halloween" film. Honorable Mention: Gary Shandling; Meg Ryan.


Please, tell me there's no DNA in this cream. (image via CNN)

Best Trend Pirate: Pie Facials. First, they punked Bill Kristol with an impromptu tapioca facial, then they went got David Horwotz. We didn't quite approve of Anna Wintour's unguent treatment, though, on account of the fact that so many calories, administered to the Vogue editrix, is cruel and unusual nourishment. In which we wrote: "If Paleoconservative America Firster Pat Buchanan were a salad, we think he would be a 'Three Pepper Salad.' Why? You ask, with a Venetian choirboy smile. Because he's fiery like all that, with a dash of sweet white onion on the subject of English as the nation's official language.

"Well, as you can imagine, a student at Western State University, whose median SAT score suggests an animosity for our language, was kind enough to apply some condiments -- at high velocity -- to the CNN commentator. According to CNN:'Commentator and former presidential candidate Pat Buchanan cut short an appearance after an opponent of his conservative views doused him with salad dressing."

"Although observers close to the case have ruled out Poppyseed dressing, DNA results are inconclusive as to whether or not any other species of 'seed' (Averted Gaze) might have been ... included in the "recipe."

"'Stop the bigotry!' the demonstrator shouted as he hurled the liquid Thursday night during the program at Western Michigan University. The incident came just two days after another noted conservative, William Kristol, was struck by a pie during an appearance at a college in Indiana."Apparently this protest was for Cesar Chavez's birthday. Though what that has to do with salad dressing pitched in anger escapes me.

"After he was hit, Buchanan cut short his question-and-answer session with the audience, saying, 'Thank you all for coming, but I'm going to have to get my hair washed.'"


"Drink a lot of water tonight, baby. I want you to do something "special" for me later.(image via phillyburbs)

The Strangest Choice for a Lowell Lecturer Pirate: Robert Evans. When we think of Lowell Lecturers, we think of the leanest and meanest intellectuals of our age in their wise, golden years, explaining the paramount issues of the day. The Lowell Lecture reeks of old books and prestige. American Masters with names like Mortimer Adler, Gore Vidal and Daniel Patrick Moynihan come to mind readily in connection to Lowell. Not ... Robert Evans. We said: "Oily hustler, dutiful 'John,' veteran player, A-List studio head, kiss stealing bandit, pal of Kissinger, Californicator -- the glorious Robert Evans, Hollywood Survivor (via reel)

"We huff on over to the Huffington Post to see a verbatim transcript of this year's Lowell Lecture (Averted Gaze), given by the notable cineaste, bon vivant, producer (We still don't know what the act of 'Producing' actually entails, either) and philosophe, Robert Evans.

"We are almost positive he is talking here about thousand dollar a night 'escorts':


"Try a thing you haven't done three times. Once, to get over the fear of doing it. Twice, to learn how to do it. And the third time, to figure out whether you like it or not.

But you will be charged by the house Madame extra for anything beyond, like "Golden Showers," or, "The Evans Special.

"Have they treated me a bit harshly at times? Oh, yes! But they've made my life one of wealth, wealth of discovery."

A "wealth" no doubt left on the bureau by the bed in the form of sweaty crumpled c-notes.


(image via tiscali)

The Blackberry Morasses Pirate goes to Naomi Campbell. We said at the time: "Naomi Campbell is ... complicated. But then, The Corsair likes a girl with 'the fire.' They are the spice of life (The Corsair pours himself a peppery cognac).

"Take Bijou Philips. Nuttier than an Almond Joy, she is. Her species of 'crazy-sexy' presents a rare and raucous challenge to any alpha male. Can you imagine her in bed? And there would never be a dull moment dating Bijou Phillips. (The Corsair sighs)

"But we draw the line at ass kicking. Naomi Campbell likes to cold cock people with gadgets and gizmos. That's her M.O; That's just wrong at any age, but particularly freaky in a grown woman. And, in what can only be construed as 'Blackberry Morasses,' the Page Sixxies report:'FIERY supermodel Naomi Campbell has allegedly attacked another one of her assistants � beating her with a BlackBerry and slapping her across the face.

"Hey, what's wrong with that? We are sure Naomi could explain said percussive activity as 'pressing the zero during the greeting.' Repeatedly.

""An insider tattles to PAGE SIX that Campbell was traveling with a young female assistant in Brazil last week when the catfighting catwalker pounced on her prey during an argument."'Naomi was slapping her with one hand, and beating her with a BlackBerry with the other,' claims our source.

"Total misunderstanding, BTW. Naomi was simply entering her new access code with a peculiar gusto."


fucking yuck, yo. (image via thesun)

The Eee-he-eew Scurvy Pirate Goes To: Michael Douglas. Whatever possessed Michael Douglas -- one half of the the 285th wealthiest people in the UK -- to parade at an airport with open wounds? We, frankly, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Or in the jowls behind his ears.


(image via PaulDavidsonblogs)

Best Pirate Destination: Brando Island. Holy fuck! Wouldn't this be the keenest location for a media corsair pirate? We said: "Self indulgent thespian-freak Marlon Brando, who may have had a "disturbing" attraction to little girls (Averted Gaze), bequeathed to the Jacko sanctuary on his little Pacific island. George Rush writes:"According to the deed, Brando transferred use of a half-acre on the islet of Onetahi, in the French Polynesian atoll of Tetiaroa, 'in consideration of gratitude and affection.'

" ... In 1976, Brando arranged for American Indian Movement leader Dennis Banks to fly by private plane to Onetahi after he was indicted for assault and inciting a riot. Brando also spirited his daughter, Cheyenne, to Tahiti after she witnessed his son, Christian, shoot her lover, Dag Drollet, in 1990."

Could you imagine a Survivor: Brando Island challenge? It would involve little South Pacific boys runing a course over land and water -- racing through the jungle -- to escape from a "tee-hee"-ing Michael Jackson.Ever since "Brando Island" was mentioned in the news, The Corsair has wondered what it would be like, being a Pirate and all. Probably sweet papaya-scented Golden boys running about lightly dressed. Monkeys, possibly even a fruitmonkey or two, cavort about. Strong drink of fiery waters made from organic island vegetation.

On second thought -- Dear Lord -- we'd rather not think about a Jacko on Brando Island scenario.


Hollywood's beloved ass monkey. (image via filmweb)

Best Hollywood Bastard: Keanu Reeves. We still cannot explain what made the normally sober Premiere Magazine would be moved to blow smoke up the ass of Keanu Reeves. It confounds us still. Some of the Hilarity: "Premiere Magazine has finally posted easily one of my favorite Magazine pieces in the last six months, namely: 'Who Is Keanu Reeves?' Here's how it goes: Actors, directors, FOK (Friends of Keanu) all talk about him as if he were fucking Brando. And they do this in all seriousness. A ferocious seriousness. With -- and we're guessing here -- insolently straight faces.

"Of course, The Corsair laughed out loud at the testimonials; and you should too. Here's a taste (Cue Cat Stevens) :

"Francis Ford Coppola: Winona Ryder in those days was going out with Johnny Depp, and I wanted Johnny to have the part [of Jonathan Harker]. The studio thought he wasn?t enough of a star. I was so embarrassed. So I said to Winona, 'What do you think? Who do you think they would think is a star, who would want to do it?' And she said Keanu. I just thought he was a very nice person. I was so touched by his sincerity."

"Keanu Reeves: Bertolucci said he would like me to play Siddhartha [in 1994's Little Buddha]. I asked him why, and he said because I had 'impossible innocence.'"

"Oh no he didn't:

"Francis Ford Coppola: For one point during Dracula, [the cast] were all living in my house in the Napa Valley. They were all running around and living there like a bunch of my kids, you know. And one time, I came down to the kitchen, and there was Keanu, in a T-shirt, having just gotten up. He was eating a donut with a beer. It was so cute because my own son who wasn't around anymore -- I'd seen him do that, you know. So it's an image I always remember."

That ... sounds like an advertisemtn for AA, actually. Finally, the capper: "Keanu Reeves: It was great to be in that environment: going for a run in the morning, looking at the stars at night, going into Francis's research library, spending time with him. You know, watching Tom Waits sing 'Waltzing Matilda' to Winona at the piano, Winona crying. It was a beautiful life. Les enfants du paradis."

Wait a second: Did Keanu just speak French? How much can The Corsair offer to gain possession of that tape?


Above: Not unlike Aristotle's Prime Mover, Sir Ben Kingsley, when left to his own devices, contemplates his own excellence. (image via

The Sir Asshole Pirate Goes to: Ben Kingsley. We wrote: "We never actually believed the rumors about Alexandra Kingsley's account of Sir Ben Kingsley's supernatural arrogance. No one would insist that his own wife call him 'Sir.' Well, perhaps during some adult roleplaying, but that's neither here nor there. . Then, this from Moviehole: "Moviehole: In 'Mrs. Harris' do you have scenes with Annette Benning or Ellen Burstyn?

"Chloe Sevigny: I have scenes with Annette Benning when she gets nasty at me. She can get nasty, it was an excellent performance but most of my scenes are with Sir Ben Kingsley. I play his nurse and young girlfriend.

"Moviehole: Was he nasty to you as well?

"CHLOE: No. He was nothing but nice.

"Moviehole: But he does insist on calling him 'Sir'�

"CHLOE: He does which is fine." Then, via contactmusic:

"A source tells British newspaper the DAILY MAIL, 'When Ben got his knighthood three years ago, he got his secretary to send all his contacts a letter, reminding them that he was now to be referred to as Sir Ben.

"'To say many of us thought he was a plonker would be the understatement of the year.'" Which brings us to ask, mightily: Can a Knighthood be rescinded on grounds of prickishness?


(image via us.movies)

Most Colorful Allusion Pirate Goes to: Jose Canseco. Canseco describes his various chickenhead conquests as -- dig this: "Road Beef." We said: "Jose Canseco, despite ample evidence to the contrary, is not an ass. He just plays one rather convincingly on TV. (The Corsair leisurely puffs a Montecristo) Anatomically speaking, though, Jose is more of a heel. In a better world, in a nobler age, Canseco would be amid price range gigolo, man-whoring with a vengeance in the society of rich Miami widows. Instead, to our detriment, he is a New York Times bestselling author and celebreality star. (The Corsair averts his gaze)

"Still, it takes a certain amount of sangfroid to refer to one�s mistresses in print as 'road beef.' The recently broken Madonna, Canseco�s choicest cut, puts in a brief-beef appearance to make out with, but not bed, the Oily One. We can only assume that the rest of the nameless, faceless tenderloinal fuckys parted with Canseco, feeling ... 'well-done' (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment)

"The thing about 'road beef,' though, as opposed to the domesticated or gourmet varieties, is that it can be gamey, and ewhen mixed with the higher quality viandes, well ... (Arched eyebrow cocked in faint amusement) From The New York Daily News� most excellent Gatecrasher we get this alarming morsel of the good stuff, namely,"Which baseball player who used to be married to Jessica Canseco gave her a nasty little something he picked up on the road while she was pregnant, according to her new tell-all book, 'Juicy'?"

"Charmed, I�m sure. Jose Canseco, he of the jutting horsejaw, appears, in essence, to be some intermediary life form between man and simian."


(image via thenationalinterest)

Best Feud of the Year Pirate: Neocons Versus Realists. At musty CFR dinners, in Washington salons and on C-Span at 3AM, the neverending battle between the Neoconservatives and Realists burned bright with their lurid references to Mogadishu and Morgathau. If only they got laid once in a while. Of this epic war we wrote: "This is the true story of seven strangers, picked to live in a house and have their lives taped, and find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting REAL. The RealPolitik World (TM)!"

"Scouting For Rooms. William Kristol (in the confessional): The detention center where we all elected to reside was ... a less than tasteful affair (huffily). And, at the outset, I was kind of apprehensive about living with some real calculating Machiavellian Realists -- me being a Neocon and all -- but, hell, I did graduate studies in the social sciences at Harvard, so, well, how much worse could it be?

"Charles Krauthammer: (Arrogantly) I found the idea of Neocons living with Realists in full view of the cameras to be a novel idea, a theatrical production clearly cognizant of American willpower. How it would all turn out? Who would have predicted ...

"Francis Fukuyama: It was like eating pineapples on the Moon. (Cracked laughter)

"The members of the household avert their gaze from Fukuyama.

"Midge Dector: The gentlemen had decided that I was to get the single room, which was all well and good, being as I was the only 'broad' among them. Unfortunately, Henry Kissinger had other designs ...

"Krauthammer: It was utterly disgusting. Total war criminal shit. Just ... (overwrought) awful. We opened the door, after several minutes of protracted effort carrying up Midge's luggage. And what did we see at the top of the stair? -- Kissinger had already fucking colonized the room. Every flat surface was covered with redacted documents, Wagnerian maps to elvin Rings-of-Power, and Machiavelli texts. And not just the various Histories and letters! Kissinger was reading Machiavelli's crappy sex farce, like The Mandrake. And no one reads that fuckwittage, not even Rennaissance scholars!

"It was some really fucking sick shit going down, man; pardon my French.

"As he lay there, spread eagle, on the bed, cloven hooves polished and sparkling in the elderich moonlight, his (Averted Gaze) 'sauerkraut' in full-view, dangling sinisterly, like a baby's arm, he uttered, dismissively -- and I'll never forget this so long as I live ...

"Henry Kissinger (guttural roar): ... 'De early bird catches the worm.'"


Above: Dark Lord Novak confers and plots with an ermine robed lieutenant of the Lord of the Flies. (image via

The Old Indestructable Pirate: Robert Novak. Our favorite Dickensian villain cursed out James Carville, jumped from CNN to Fox, outed Valerie Plame and -- most importantly -- kicked a little ass. God willing when we are 75-years old, we too will still be kicking ass and causing national intelligence scandals.


Kim Catrall humps the wall, using, of course, the Stanislavsky Method.

Best Star Porn. Kim Catrall's Bondage Pictures. When we are young and not-yet-famous, we do things. Okay: Porn. Or, to put it kindly, "tasteful arty pics." Then, when one becomes famous, those pics turn up in downmarket British tabloids, or, if you're lucky, Penthouse. Of Kim Catrall's we wrote: "Kim Catrall is doing the full media gauntlet for the G-rated 'Ice Princess,' alleging to all that will listen that there's more to life than sex (like, what, Kim?) newly surfaced evidence (see above) shows -- ahem -- that the new 'family-friendly' posturing will prove ... highly implausible.

"But we digress. On to these ... saucy pictures, which, according to NewsoftheWorld:'The outrageous shots were taken when Sex And The City star Kim had just finished filming clean-cut comedy Mannequin.'

"A pal of Kim's said: 'She thought they'd help her get racier roles, but that was in 1987 before she was a star.'

"Before she was a star, you say? That entirely ignored her body of work previous, most notably, her role as the overloud and exhuberant instructor nicknamed 'Lassie' in Porky's. To every heterosexual male over the age of 25, that was an Oscar worthy performance. (The Corsair lowers his tricorner Pirate hat in respect)


(image via kingfisherpress)

Oddest Literary Feud Pirate Goes To: Mitchiko Kakutani Versus Norman Mailer. We said: "Cantankerous old fucker Norman Mailer is still ruffling feathers and issuing sonorous bitchslaps to the literati on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. When last we heard of Mailer, he had just punched New Republic owner/cryptoracist Marty Peretz in the belly. The Corsair wishes he could have done the same. Peretz duly replied that he barely felt a thing. He would not say the same about The Corsair, we wager. (The Corsair cracks his knuckles)

"Now, according to RadarOnline:'Dreaded New York Times book critic Michiko Kakutani�for whom 'the death of the author' is less a new-critical trope than a career goal�is said to be livid over Norman Mailer�s quasi-racist remarks about her in the new Rolling Stone. Buried in Douglas Brinkley�s epic profile of the ailing literary lion in the mag�s summer double issue is a scathing, if somewhat incoherent attack on Kakutani, wherein Mailer suggests she would have been given the axe long ago were it not for the Gray Lady�s affirmative action policies.

�'Kakutani is a one-woman kamikaze,' Mailer gripes. 'She disdains white male authors, and I�m her number-one favorite target. One of her cheap tricks is to bring out your review two weeks in advance of publication. She trashes it just to hurt sales and embarrass the author. But the Times editors can�t fire her. They�re terrified of her. With discrimination rules and such, well, she�s a threefer�. Asiatic, feminist, and, ah, what�s the third? Well� let�s just call her a twofer."

Deep into his "senior moment," yielding to the cognitive vertigo of Alzheimer's and Beefeater Gin, Mailer continues, absently:"They get two for one. She is a token. And deep down, she probably knows it.'"We�re told Kakutani, once dubbed 'Bitchiko' by Bret Easton Ellis, is so furious about the slurs she�s thinking about filing complaints with the Academy of Arts and Letters and other stuffy literary groups to which Mailer belongs."While we are sure that Mailer's arthritic knees are a quiver at the prospect at a censure vote at PEN America's next vapid little "Poets and Democracy" meet-and-greet (Averted Gaze), we ... cannot ... quite muster up the necessary interest to give ....a .... fuuuck.


Above: Young, rich, beautiful powercouples in repose, at play, enjoying the restorative benefits of a chilled glass of the "earthy, full bodied" blood of Andalusian peasant babies.(image via nysocialdiary)

The Spanish Dubloons Pirate Goes to: The Young and Rich. Our favorite social chronicler David Patrick Columbia gave us bird's eye view coverage of what those chaps, those Masters of the Universe actually do after hours. A sample of Corsair commentary: "Social Register beefcake David Patrick Columbia schools us on Thursday's 'celestial black tie' happening:'... This is one of New York's most popular junior events, drawing more than 600 of the young sophisticates (and according to your tastes, some of the heavenly bodies, if you will). Among the stellar attendees: Darryl Hammond, Maya Rudolph, Amy Poehler, Seth Myers, Will Forte, Kenan Thompson, Charles Rockefeller, Ted Roosevelt V, Victoria Traina, Donald Trump, Jr.'Surrealism at the American Museum of Natural History? That's quite a guest list. I'm just saying."... Fabian and Martina Basabe, Alex de Rothschild, Kim Garfunkel, Amy Astley, Peter Som and Jessie Della Femina.... They raised $36,000 at the auction, which with ticket sales brought the total to $250,000.'"

"Other decidedly not hoi polloi guests included celebrity airhead Brittney Gastineau ('Hi, sailor: Are you married? -- twirls hair with finger -- What do you do for a living? What's your zip code?'), the perpetually anemic looking Moby (Could someone please fetch this poor man a spoonful of cod liver oil and a robust multivitamin?), the foolish Tinsley Mortimer (of whom the less that is said the better), and, finally, Ashley Olsen (Call me?)."


Fakest. Smile. Ever. (image via thesun)

The Eat The Press Pirate goes to: HRH Prince Charles. Of whom we wrote: "Granted, there's no earthly reason for Prince Charles to love the press. They blasted his son on his quixotic decision to wear a Nazi uniform to a dubiously named 'Natives and Colonials' soiree (Averted Gaze). The media has been merciless in their coverage of his betrothed. But try, Prince Charles ... really tax yourself not to lend voice to your utter media disgust by spouting what can only be properly construed as 'aggressive free-verse' while near an live mic.

"According to the Sun:'THE PRINCE of Wales's contempt for the press was made abundantly clear today when the grumpy groom-to-be faced the cameras just a week before his wedding.

"During the brief five-minute media event in the village of Monbiel, on the outskirts of Klosters, Charles looked uncomfortable as he was asked by BBC TV reporter Nicholas Witchell about his feelings in the run-up to his wedding.

"'I'm very glad you have heard of it,' the Prince said.'But he also uttered: 'Bloody people. I can't bear that man anyway. He's so awful, he really is.'Charles added: 'I hate these people.'" Exercise your inner bitch, Charles; really let the freak flag fly like Old Brittania.


Tear him a new asshole, Tim.

The Imperial Pirate Festivity Goes To: The Gridiron Dinner. It was either that, or the Al Smith Dinner. Last March, we wrote: "Ah, for the scent of mothballs! Tonight's Gridiron Dinner inaugurates Tim Russert, a broadcast journo, who gets special dispensation to attend this elite print journo confab of geezers (Geezer is the appropriate word here, as they have only one broadcast journo and no bloggers in attendance). It will be so best.The invite proves that Tim is indeed the most powerful journo in the business (and though we kid him, we like him and his cool protoge, LX), the only game in town (Sorry Stephanopoulos, thy honeyed-voice and Grecian choir boy eyes does not a grown-up journo make), and, ancillary to that, the fact that political writers in an Imperial city -- courtiers all, by the way -- know how to brownnose Russert ass with particularly roguish brio and gusto.

"We imagine the standard line of the evening, oft repeated, entirely uncherished by Lord Russert, as the top shelf liquor evaporates into the hardy battle-scarred livers of some of our favorite aging scribblers being, 'Call me, Tim ... I'd love to be a panelist sometime.' And of course Tim won't, cocktease bigtime network Vice President journo that he is. Little Russ hasn't seen a papercut since Reagan was running hard and hungry.

"Or something to that effect. Anyway (The Corsair sips on a vivacious 1992 Chardonnay), According to The Washingtonian (link via Wonkette):'Saturday night�s Gridiron Club dinner will be, as usual, off the record. But your reporter talked his way into a rehearsal this afternoon at the Capital Hilton, a few blocks up from the White House."

"Here�s what to expect at this 120th annual dinner: geriatric journalists hamming it up on stage.'It has gotten a little pass�,' one member whispered off the record. 'The leaders are groping to keep it relevant.'Off the record, honestly: Was that Bob Novak? That unauthorized use of the French has 'Novak Social Misdemeanor' written all over it. That freak. Seriously. He's like a bad brandy, that Novak. He's got some conservative issues against letting TV types in da club."At least they�re aware of their relevance problem, according to this ditty sung to the tune of 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame.'At which point in the evening, David Broder and some hot little number he picked up from the local Senior Citizen's Home will regale the crowd with their particularly acrobatic renditions of 'The Charleston,' and the 'Cha-Cha.'

"Every president since Benjamin Harrison has attended the Gridiron�s satiric review, except for Grover Cleveland. "And, according to popular lore, a randy Millard Filmore put a rather lusty sounding whoopie cushion under Helen Thomas' then-pert fanny. The scamp.


(image via absolutefilmnow)

The "I'm A Little Bit Country" Award Goes to Holly Robinson Peet, formerly Officer Hoffs of 21 Jump Street (thank you, thank you), who went to the Oscars and went into labor. (Averted Gaze) Can you say: "Country"? That's so ghetto, we don't even know where to begin ... Dancing up a storm as one's water is breaking is so PJ. Was she doing the "electric slide" when the baby decided to make his enrty? We wrote: "According to Associated Press:'Actress Holly Robinson Peete, pregnant with her fourth child, was partying at a pre-Oscar bash late Thursday when she went into labor."

"'One minute she's grooving, the next minute her water breaks,' said Michael Lewittes, a producer for 'Access Hollywood' who was covering the party."

Holly Robinson Peete's husband, Carolina Panthers quarterback Rodney Peete, was not at the party. (Averted Gaze)


(image via affichescinema)

The Trend is Over, It was right before my eyes Pirate Goes to: The Anchormen. Of which, we wrote: "Are we now witnessing the spectacular demise of that once significant cultural artifact, the network evening news anchor? Still, despite the acrid aroma of decline, the Three Wise Men, like the great marble busts of the Roman emperors, besiege a shrinking viewership nightly with their manly looks, their exuberant confidence, their expression of Stoic determination, and, most important of all, that fabulous hair. These talking heads -- granite pillars of respectability, all -- combine the saintly charms of the priest, the sagacity of the rabbi, the divine prescience of the minister with the warmth of your favorite uncle all wrapped up under one � strikingly ... beautiful helmet of robust hair.

"Peter Jennings, for example, gives off the worldly impression of a long winter afternoon spent by the parlor fire in the company of old French novels. Tom Brokaw, recently retired, is a child of the Great Plains, an All-American outdoorsman, who would be at home hiking canyon trails, or, say, whitewater rafting in some red state. But Dan Rather? Well, he�s �a colorful chap,� what can The Corsair say?Rather�s eccentricities make us pine after the days when Walter Cronkite handled on-air anchor duties at Black Rock. Dan Rather�s infamous 'What's the frequency, Kenneth?' episode is the stuff of explosive belly laughter if you are not careful. The story goes like this: In October 1986, Rather was roughed up while walking down New York�s Park Avenue in broad daylight. The ruffian, one William Tager, mercilessly kicked and pummeled the supine anchor, all the while repeating the mysterious phrase, �Kenneth, what is the frequency?� The Corsair can only hypothesize that Rather responded in a baleful pleading, bleating like an angus goat:, 'Not � the � haaaair!' Michael Stipe of REM, who later parlayed this quixotic little happening into a hit song, said of the incident, 'It remains the premier � American surrealist act of the 20th century.'"


He's so vain, I'll bet he thinks this blog is about him (image via Christenvulve).

The Why Are We Not Surprised About This Pirate Goes to: Warren Beatty. Of the future Governor of California (As goldenboy West Wing producer Lawrence O'Donnell keeps hinting), and inexplicably non-blogging booster of HuffPo, we wrote, clearly hungover: "Warren Beatty, Porn Afficionado. The husband of the likely Best Actress Oscar winner, the priapic Warren Beatty knows his 'best boy' from his 'reverse cowgirl position.' And, what's more, he knows when a "DP" is not really a "DP." (If you know what we mean)

"According to that significant cultural artifact, The National Enquirer:

"Ex-porn actress Sharon Mitchell, who now heads a group that monitors X-rated movie stars for sexual diseases, was introduced to Beatty on the set of his film 'Town & Country.' She told The ENQUIRER: 'I was struck by how extensive his knowledge was of the porn industry.'"

"Why ... are we not surprised?"


Whoopsie! (image via

The "Eggplant Dyke Ass" Pirate Goes to the Paris Hilton T-Mobile Hackers. In which we learned the private numbers of Frankie Muniz and Gary Shandling. (Averted Gaze) As we wrote: "Jason Calacanis blogged on February 21, 'Well, I just got back from the All-Star Game where I was hanging out with Mark Cuban. He told me his phone started going crazy at midnight last night when the news story broke (his number was in her Sidekick) ... He has a new number already.' Which ties into this interesting piece about the fallout of Paris Hilton's T-Mobile in pro basketball, from -- of all places -- Infoworld:'The hacking and/or information theft from Paris Hilton's sidekick nearly halted a last-minute trade among NBA teams, this intrepid reporter has learned.

"'How did I learn this? By listening to early morning sports talk radio. Dallas Maverick owner Mark Cuban, on the radio (KTCK 1310AM to be specific) defending the trade of Alan Henderson and Calvin Booth to the Milwaukee Bucks for Keith Van Horn, said he was nearly out of the loop on the trade because he had to get a new phone number because his phone number was among those found in the hotel heiress' cell phone.

"'If Van Horn stiffs with the Mavericks, as many fans suspect, they may wish Cuban didn't get a new phone. Cuban said he received an amazing number of phone calls once the numbers were published.'"

We can imagine.


Analinguist Pirate Goes to: Who else? James Lipton. In an interview with our favorite foot fetishist, George Wayne of Vanity Fair, we get, as they say, to the bottom of things:

"G.W. Liam, Johnny, Leo, Clint, Jamie: who is your choice for Oscar's best actor?

"Lipton: I committed to Jamie Foxx. I told him flat out I thought he would win the Oscar. I thought his performance was one of the most stunning achievements I've ever seen on film.

"G.W. Well, there's one thing to be said for James Lipton: he's mastered the art of celebrity anilingus!"

"J.L. Bullshit! Bullshit! That started when I began to get the big guests. Some from the press couldn't figure out how I, an upstart, could get these people to come and talk to me for five hours ... Some in the press say the only reason I got these people on my show was because I kiss ass, but I don't believe in that. They come because we are a school."

(A considerable pause) Lesson one: How to properly felch an A-Lister, with salacious slurping sounds.


(image via

The Jim Morrison Memorial "This is the End, My Friend" Pirate (The Corsair lowers his tricornered Pirate hat): Bobby Short, Razor Magazine, John Spencer, Pat Morita, Nan Kempner, John Fowles, Richard Pryor, Peter Jennings, Hunter S. Thompson.


Electric Youth (image via thecarolines)

The "Never Gonna Get It" Pirate: Debbie "Deborah" Gibson. Of whom we scribbled: "She get weak ... in a glance ... Isn't that ... what's called 'ro-mance'? Or (Averted Gaze), something to that effect. According to the National Enquirer:'Former teen idol Deborah Gibson decided to bare all in a sexy photo spread for Playboy because she's advertising for a boyfriend -- specifically Jamie Foxx.' The Corsair is, ehr, confused. We figured -- how does one put this kindly? -- that winning the Best Actor Oscar ... brought one .. a ... better quality of, well, for lack of a better word -- 'ass':

"She hopes the Oscar-nominated star of 'Ray' gets a copy and likes what he sees. 'I am now in dating mode,' she told The ENQUIRER in an exclusive interview. 'I'm not with anyone. I did Playboy because I have a very free spirit and I've gotten to a point in my life where I want to have fun."It's opened me up a lot. I hope it opens me up to a lot of men.'"

A considerable pause. A dramatic intake of air. The power to continue:'... Pointing to her curvy bottom, the singer, whose new single is appropriately called 'Naked,' added: 'I want to be in Jamie Foxx's speed dial because he likes big booties and I've got a big boot.'"


Walk the Plank Pirate: Dave Chappelle. Couldn't he have taken the "spiritual retreat" after earning the 50 mil?


(image via hello!magazine)

The Shut the Fuck Up, Dude Pirate Goes to: Richard Gere. For Insinuating himself in the Palestinian elections. And, for this: "Though he played quite the man-whore in "Breathless," Richard Gere, according to Hello!Magazine, is something of a private dancer in Japan:"Japan's prime minister Junichiro Koizumi wasn't expecting anything more than a photo opportunity when he met up with Richard Gere in Tokyo, so he got something of a surprise when he turned to his guest and, in a jokey reference to the actor's latest film, asked; 'Shall we dance?' Richard promptly embraced the 63-year-old and took him for a twirl in front of the cameras."


(link via thesmokinggun)

Pop Art of the Year Pirate: The Kid Rock Life of Crime Triptych. The stages of one's lowlife ways. Truly Exquisite; better than a Medieval unicorn tapestry. We wrote: "Stroll with me through the variety of mughots that Kid Rock has accumulated in his brief, yet lascivious life; they constitute a sort of Bildungsroman, with added emphasis on the "dung." The SmokingGun notes:'Robert James Ritchie (aka Kid Rock) was arrested by Nashville cops in February 2005 and charged with misdemeanor assault after getting into a fight with a Tennessee strip club DJ. This wasn't Kid's first time posing for a police camera, as seen in the two older photos ... he was also busted by Michigan cops in March 1991 and September 1997. Both arrests were alcohol related, though dispositions are unclear.' And yet the compositions are exquisite. Our compliments to the master craftsmen who made this little online exhibition possible. Each portrait of incarceration marks the progression, in time, of a complete jackass." More here.

Part II 2005 "Year End Corsair 'Pirate Awards" here.

Thanks for all the support in 2005 goes to you, the readers, as well as the few, the proud Corsair advertisers, and, of course, my homeboys and girls (I get by with a little help from my friends): David Patrick Columbia, the dazzling Gloria Pan at Morph, sexy Liza Sabater at Culturekitchen, Chris Wilson at Page Six, AJ Benza, Rachel Sklar, our favorite gossip superhero duo Rush and Molloy, Nichelle, Ben Widdicombe, Brian Montopoli at the CBS Eye Blog, Michael Gross, Michael Musto, Shaw, Jason Calacanis, Jessica and Jess at Gawker, Mark Lisanti at Defamer and, last, but never least, my magnificent blog wife Miu (How do you put up with me, darling?)

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Picture Pages, Picture Pages ...


Evidently, Paris is still burning. (image via ohnotheydidnt)


"No, sir, I did not shoot Bubbles the Chimp after catching him comitting 'acts' with my bleached son." (image via wireimage)


"Enough about finding a billionaire with a heart murmur, Mom; we've exhausted that topic to the max. I really want to know what your opinion is on the upcoming Palestinian elections."(image via nysocialdiary)


... A mind is a terrible thing to baste. (image via thecobrasnake)

Although she frequently appears on Lifetime, her marriage schedule occupies a considerably shorter timeframe, if you know what I mean. (image via AP/yahoo)


We don't know who this is. We've never met him. He may be named Chad, or Chet, or some such similarly evocative sobriquet of Imperialism and rugby and date rape. Dig this: We just really want to slap him in his insolent face. Slap him with significant and sonorous force. Are you with us on this? (image via thecobrasnake)