Either she is wasting away without Guy Ritchie’s life-force to feed on, or she’s working out just too damned much.  Either way, her arms are freaking me out, so she either needs to find someone talented to suck dry or fire Tracy Anderson and eat a gently caressing meal.

Cate Blanchett attended the Armani fashion show in Paris, and spent the entire show wondering why she was sitting next to a sex doll.

Do not adjust your monitors. With the death of Michael Jackson, Julianne Moore is now officially the whitest person on the planet.

Put it away memaw. Give your daughter back her clothes and put your geriatric tuna can away.

Lady Gaga is like the kid that comes in last in the Special Olympics. She tries her best, God bless her heart.

CALLING ALL SQUEERS! CALLING ALL SQUEERS! Brooke Hogan is in the Applebees' parking lot. Grab you brick and meet up at the dumpster. On Mae's signal, unleash Hell!

It would seem that Scarlett Johansson and Gwyneth Paltrow now have more in common than being blond actresses with roles in Ironman 2 and husbands who are the subjects of the same queen.  According to the Daily Mail, for her turn in Ironman 2 Johansson has decided to drop her curves and go hardbody. So far she’s lost 14 pounds, and it’s all thanks to GOOPy Gwyn’s workout friend, Tracy Anderson. While in reality I have no idea why the voluptuous Scarjo would suddenly decide the thing that distinguishes her from the stick figure actresses of Hollywood needs to be blotted from existence, I can’t help but imagine the scenario went something like this.

SCENE 1 -  March 19, 2008. The Johansson-Reynolds living room.  Johansson is lounging on a sofa, knocking back shots of heavy cream while intermittently gnawing on a turkey leg.  A Macbook Pro sits on her lap as she types an email to BFF President Obama. As she wonders aloud if “Laissez-faire” has one “s” or two, her laptop dings to signify a new email.

Johansson: YAY! This week’s GOOP Newsletter is here! I love GOOP.  One day I’m going to be just like Gwyneth Paltrow, who is going to be just like Madonna, so I will be as famous as Madonna by proxy!

(She clicks.) As Scarlett reads, her eyes grow wide–her jaw drops. The turkey leg tumbles onto her ample bosom that’s now heaving in sync with her growing anger.

Johansson: GWYNETH, YOU BITCH! I ate the poussins, I made the lava cake, I ingested the goose fat drenched in hollandaise, and NOW you’re telling me I should care about the size of my butt? You duplicitous hussy. (This is a universal reaction to Paltrow’s two-faced nature.)

SCENE 2 – Cut to a week later.  After seven days of sustaining herself on little more than seitan Scarlett is weak, desperate and craving poussins.  Her ass has begun to haunt her every waking thought and she is suffering caper induced hallucinations. She can no longer move from the sofa.

Johansson: Must…get thin…help. me. GOOP.  Shut up wallabies! Butt…not fat!  Huh? NO!  Don’t. own.talking.wallabies. AH! Stupid Gwyneth! Wait, no. Gwynnie friend..Gwynnie frienie. Haha, Gwynniefrieniegwyniefrieniegwyniefrienie  (cackles, falls over, then slides onto the floor). Oh hey! Laptop! (laptop dings to indicate new email). Goooooop!

(She clicks, reads and is quickly sobered by Gwyneth’s latest missive.)

Johansson: OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!  Someone get Tracy Anderson on the phone. Gwyn says I’ve got to exercise. And bring me a goddamned pouissin, stat!

OK, fine, this scenario might seem far-fetched, but what else explains why  Scarjo, who was not fat, would think she is and hire a criminal nut job to aid in the destruction of her public and self images.  After all, Tracy Anderson made Madonna look like this:

And she apparently makes Gwyneth Paltrow lactate.

Why, Scarjo?  Why?