CALL ME COLD AND ABRASIVE...

Here's one list no Hollywood star wants to be on. A morbidly delicious website called GHOULPOOL.US lets users bet on when they believe celebrities will die -- and win cash prizes if they're right...

Participants choose 25 celebs they think will die within the year. Each celeb is assigned a point value, based on how old they are and how they might die. The younger the Hollywood star, and more extreme the death, the more cash participants receive. Could ya just die?

Sadly, Lindsay Lohan's recent rehabs, relapses and just being an all around HOT MESS have many speculating she'll be dead within the year. My Lindso is now popping up on Ghoulpool's lists, alongside the usual train wrecks such as Pete Doherty and Courtney Love.

I couldn't give two flying shits about the other fools, but not my LOHAN!!

JOSE CESAR RECIO: ANDERSON'S LATIN HUNK

Why am I not surprised that pale, chalky hunk of a man Anderson Cooper has chosen a Latin to lay with. Goes to show that us Latins are just incredibly irresistible.

I'VE ALWAYS SAID IT... HE'S IN THE CLUB

Anderson Cooper has always been sexually suspect in my book, so it's no surprise that he finds it long overdue that he should exhale a bit. Being in the closet can be very EXHAUSTING. Pay close attention to the end of the video. Anderson makes a comment which insinuates he's gay. Frankly, I feel proud and aroused all at once. It's about time brother. Embrace the gayness. As a hot, gay brother myself, it's easier coming out to your friends and loved ones when you're easy on the eyes. The uglies aren't as fortunate though...

BABIES? WHO NEEDS STINKING BABIES?

After the eerie onslaught of pregnancies that multiplied before my eyes this year, I find myself questioning my purpose in life and whether or not I can foresee myself having my very own child in the future. The answer is a thunderous, crackling NO...

Some people are simply pre-programmed to be viable parents. Creating life, for lack of a better phrase, seems to be an event that some find easily digestible and simplistic to achieve. Just the thought of the responsibility and maturity that is essential in being a selfless, unconditional support base for your child alone exhausts me, but others seem to just take it in stride like they hold the handbook to parental perfection.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not an angry, child-hating ogre by any means. I do enjoy the little tykes. I spend the majority of my working day among these little buckets of bacteria. I'm literally surrounded by these children all day. I love them... I do. But at the end of the day I part my ways and go home. I go home to a life where I don't have to look over my shoulder and worry that I may have slipped and said the word "FUCKBAG" in the presence of my child. I do not have to stress the fact that I have to return home at a reasonable time after a much-needed night out in the city due to child-related stress and anxiety. Never will I have to question my actions of immaturity and overall insanity on a daily basis. I, kidless and joyous, will never ponder whether or not I remembered to feed and bathe my silly little child. Hallelujah...

OK, maybe I am an ogre of sorts...

Nevertheless, I guess the whole reasoning behind my complete lack of interest in becoming a dad is due to the fact that I'm satisfied. I'm satisfied with the company of my beautiful niece and nephew, let alone the newly created truckload of children that will pop out the vaginas of my sacred circle of hags. In that sense, I'm completed.

Like Samantha from Sex in the City, I embrace my feelings of solitude and complete boredom with the concept of fatherhood in general. Last minute plane ride to Barbados? I'm there. If I had a child... I wouldn't be there. Simple as that.

Suck it bitches.

TOODLES.

BIZZARO WORLD...

All the lack of attention and all-around lack of publicity has led Jennifer to eat her emotions away. Who needs a baby when you can eat one?

Angelina knows that when Brad is near, all will turn out right in the world of Jolie. No longer a walking skeleton, Gia has been gorging on flap jacks and cigarettes as she waits for her beau to return from filming his latest flop...

I personally cannot recognize any difference in this picture. The bitch always looks like this...

Fresh out of REHAB, Lindsay now knows that a plate full of fruit is much healthier than an 8-ball on a plate. Ain't she purty?

Again, I see no difference in this pic. John actually looks better here...

Pamela Anderson has changed careers dramatically. No longer a b-list actress and all around waste of air, Ms. Anderson is now a 4th grade teacher and part-time hooker... with her male students being her primary source of income.

Perhaps Posh Spice should do some rounds with her more athletic and svelte husband, David Beckham. All the exercise could reignite her Spice Girl fame you know. How about Corpulent Spice?

Nicky Hilton may not get half as much attention as her ditzy counterpart, but can Paris sport such lavish bling and frosted tips with this type of style and panache? I don't think so.

Johnny Depp looks a bit like a 70's porn star in this pic. That little wisp of hair beneath his lower lip serves as a fantastic French Tickler you know...

And last but not least...

All this talk about Nicole Richie possibly being pregnant has led me to fantasize a bit about what the baby might look like. Already the baby weighs more than mommy...

EXTRA EXTRA... READ ALL ABOUT IT!!!

With the official OK from Denise, I can now announce something that I've been wanting to share with my readers for the past two weeks. Something that is somewhat of a miracle and worth shouting out to all of my fellow blogging peers. My haggy is PREGNANT...

While it's rather unusual and alien for me to comprehend what the next nine months has in store for Denise and her newly created bun in the oven, I'm confident that everything will turn upside down and pretty much challenge everything that we've grown accustomed to throughout the years of living life without a baby. Countless years of non-parenthood has led us to live a life of self-indulgence and semi-responsibility, as we've gotten used to not having anyone or anything to answer to... until now...

Some of you out there might be questioning why I'm writing as if I'm the father of this child. While I have the devoted characteristics that every husband should possess, my sperm has never come into contact with her uterus or ovaries for that matter, contrary to popular belief. Rodney, Denise's boyfriend and all around perfect dad-to-be is responsible for the next nine months of her gestation. More power to him...

Although I'm not the father of her baby, I do feel somewhat linked to the conception in some strange, non-kinky way. Like some GAY WIZARD OF FERTILITY, my presence in her life has somehow lined up the planets creating an inter-galactic miracle of fate. While Rodney had the obvious physical responsibility in her pregnancy, I on the other hand, had the emotional responsibility and general support. This support laid out the necessary foundation for the magical conception that has taken place. Like that non-conventional kid who insists on wearing black and singing to another tune, this child will be a maverick... this child will have TWO DADDIES.

One can only imagine what Rodney and I are in store for as I've heard many a horrid story about the emotional roller coaster women go through. Their belly expands beyond belief, let alone the other phalanx of epic bodily changes that rear their ugly head for all the world to see. And by world, I mean the two prominent men in her life... me and Rodney. Help me Jesus, Joseph and Mary...

With the cavalcade of preteen pregnancies and bum-rush of unfit mothers plaguing this planet, Denise will smash those hopeless statistics as one of the best applicants out there. If the love she displays to her cats are any indication to the brand of mom she'll be, then I'm completely and utterly at ease.

CONGRATULATIONS BISHYFACE.