If there were any lingering doubts as to whether Britney Spears was a pop star significantly past the verge of a nervous breakdown, they were answered at her now infamous OK! magazine cover shoot, in which the celeb glossy—having witnessed their subject perform a number of highly inappropriate acts, including the defiling of designerwear with a combination of fried chicken grease and lapdog droppings—was forced to compromise their "nice" editorial voice by splashing the unflattering photos across their pages. Spears' former pimp/fertilizer Kevin Federline is now reportedly seeking full custody of his children:

Anne Heche's divorce from couchhusband Coley Laffoon is only growing uglier, as the actress has now lashed back at his claims that her tenuous grip on her own sanity renders her an unfit mother. The Men in Trees star now accuses Laffoon of neglecting their son Homer, opting instead to fill his days with leisure activities and illicit keystrokes:

All you slavishly devoted husbands out there currently digging petrified doodie bubbles out of your crack-addled spouses' butts (and yet somehow managing to simultaneously read this post), we suggest you stop what you're doing and extract your probing digits immediately: No, not even that level of impaction-loosening servitude guarantees that your wife won't eventually leave you.

As our friends in the Great White North have alerted us to approximately 7,000 times this week, Hollywood's Lil' Princess Tori Spelling made an appearance last Sunday at the MuchMusic Video Awards, billed as "the wildest music awards party in Canada." (Apparently the Junos have lost much of the unpredictable, rock n' roll edge they laid claim to back in Anne Murray's heyday.) At around the same time her father was smelling burnt toast and being rushed to an LA hospital, the reviled man-plunderer found herself just feet away from victim/nemesis Mary Jo Eustace (a Canadian TV personality and self-published author of the much-lauded book proposal, My Husband Left Me For Tori Spelling). Eustace claims Spelling had her ejected, citing a "restraining order," and Tori's later attempt to win over the audience very nearly resulted in them demanding her head on a hockey stick:

Operation K-Fed Redemption begins: On the same day TMZ posts paparazzi photos of Kevin Federline interacting with wife/meal ticket Britney Spears while actually holding his own son in his arms (and no hunky babyguards in sight), the AP is reporting that Spears has given the Today Show's Matt Lauer an exclusive interview, airing Thursday, in which she insists that her husband has been nothing less than her cornrowed, background dancing rock in her time of need:

Perhaps fueled by reports of his unsuccessful, alleged solicitation of a happy ending from a masseuse, and the auto-administered release that followed, there has been a recent uptick in rumors that Kevin Costner and his wife Christine's marriage will result in a decidedly unhappy ending. Not so, says Costner flack Paul Bloch, who released a carefully (and copiously) worded denial:

The ugly he-said-she's-a-lying-publicity-whore/ she-said-he's-a-violent- pill-abusing-whoremonger- with-a-taste-for-jailbait-porn fallout from the public disclosure of Denise Richard's divorce declaration last Friday continues to contaminate everything in its path, with estranged husband Charlie Sheen's manager expressing his outrage that the couple's messy split is being played out in nasty soundbites in the press by issuing a nasty soundbite to Page Six:

Page Six reports that Nick Lachey opened up to Rolling Stone about the sad disintegration of his cherished reality show marriage because he was promised the story would run on its cover. But wily RS publisher Jann Wenner pulled a C-list bait-and-switch on Lachey, demoting him to the cover of his other publication, glossy rag US Weekly. What's more, Nick appeared on US shirtless and engaged in the classic gay personals photo cheat stance: arms crossed and folded, thereby inflating manboobs to maximum capacity.

As outrageous details continue to trickle in about the Charlie Sheen-Denise Richards divorce scandal—effectively upgrading it from celebrity "dirt" to "Satan's fly-covered feces"—it struck us that the only missing elements from the sordid tale were a porn star corpse and the looming spectre of O.J. Simpson. Well, check and check, according to Rush and Molloy:

Exer-ball infomercial spokesperson Nick Lachey opened up to Rolling Stone about exactly what went down in his divorce from Jessica Simpson, putting to rest any lingering uncertainty regarding rumors that their marriage was a played-for-the-cameras sham, that her manager/father is a meddling creep, and that Simpson was sleeping around. Turns out, the rumors were mostly true:

Sitting high atop Eddie Murphy's long list of lifelong regrets, above even The Adventures of Pluto Nash and Showtime, must be that fateful night in 1997 when he fell victim to his own bleeding heart and whisked a weepy transexual street walker off the mean streets of West Hollywood, only to be stopped by cops and questioned about what s/he was doing in his car. ("Taking a load off, officers!" we imagine him saying, before launching into his trademark wheeze-laugh.) Nine years later, he's still living his good deed down, and thanks to his recent divorce to Nicole Mitchell, the whole affair is about to bubble back up to the surface:

It can't be mere coincidence that celebrity break-up reports start piling up in the weeks approaching Valentine's Day. One need only catch a passing glimpse of a calendar violated with a red Sharpie-scrawled heart around the 14th, and the words "Dinner with my sweetie!" taunting menacingly from inside, to convince oneself that the grinning, insufferable creature who has been surfing one's coattails for far too long needs to hit the curb. But there's more than merely passion fatigue at play with the epidemic's latest victims—Ralph Fiennes and his partner of 11 years, Francesca Annis there's also the home-wrecking Romanian chanteuse factor, and the question of just who dumped whom:

We never thought that the subject of Heather Locklear and Richie Sambora's impending divorce would come up again, expecting that they would quickly return to looking for a new role as Struggling Series Saving Bitch and drowning their relationship sorrows in groupies with sagging "Slippery When Wet" tattoos, respectively, and disappear from the celebrity newswire. Unfortunately, once the announcement that Locklear had filed divorce papers was made yesterday, someone forgot to tell Sambora that his marriage was over (on paper, at least):

Just in case you still held a shadow of a glimmer of sparkle of a doubt in your "Nick and Jessica 4-Ever" hoping hearts that their love was truly dead, comes this tidbit buried in today's AP wires:

Yesterday's announcement that yet another high-profile (well, half high profile) Hollywood marriage succumbed to the inevitable relationship-melting pressures of love in the public eye didn't catch Rush & Molloy by surprise, who report that people have been chattering about the couple's demise for some time:

If nothing else, 2005 will surely go down as the Year the Love Died. In its honor, we present to you the above photomosaic, made up of the misty water colored mem'ries of a year's worth of lost celebrity love (which were conveniently compiled for our looting by a third party). If you stand several feet back (say, 20) and squint, you will notice that the individual images amazingly add up to one larger picture: that of a Pierrot clown, nose pressed tightly to a ceramic straw as he blows a line off a mirrored tray, and catches a single, heartbroken tear running off his own cheek in the reflection. A thousand words, indeed.

People magazine reports that Jessica Simpson, having spent a full two weeks mourning the dissolution of her sham marriage to Nick Lachey, has already found her groove again in the form of a $3 million home in Beverly Hills:

Blogger The Apiary has compiled the latest sightings of Mike Myers sent into our New York City-mouse cousin Gawker. Myers, we recently noted, has announced the unfortunate end of his seemingly happy marriage. While his publicist's statement revealed very little about what went down, the Gawker Stalker story, told from several strangers' corroborative eyes, gives us a fuller picture of a man in a state of ever-deepening despair:

Mike Myers, the Canadian comedian who brought us such unforgettable comic creations as Wayne Campbell, Austin Powers, and Flabbergasted Katrina Relief Telethon Co-Presenter, has announced the sad news that he and wife of 12-years, Robin Ruzan, will be getting a divorce:

We've been away for a couple of days, blissfully unaware of the recent celebrity decouplings, but bear with us as we take a quick inventory: Kenny "'Fraud' Means Exactly What You Think It Means" Chesney and Renee Zellweger, annulling. Tori Spelling and that guy, divorcing. Two very pretty people from a WB show we've never seen, but whom were married for about ten minutes, separating. And in what we're sure will make for a terribly poignant thirty second segment on E!'s 50 Least Consequential Semi-Celebrity Divorce Filings, Kathy Griffin and her much-suffering husband are calling it quits. Are we caught up yet? Clearly, God is punishing us for taking time off (we're having flashbacks of the time we took a shower and missed the announcement about the Brad and Jen split); we expect that if we take a lunch hour today, He will test us by sending down a frog-storm of news of life-changing importance, perhaps about how Donald Trump's sperm is still motile. What? Oh, shit.