columns: According to My Sources


Backroom Whispers

By a Gossiping Bitch on October 22nd, 2003

How ’bout that Britney Spears? Yeah, so she’s got a new record out and the hype machine’s kicking in. What? We’re citizens of the world here at the GB, and, in that world, Britney Spears is a bigger deal than Busdriva. That’s how it is, so suck it up, Poindexter.

It’s hot how walking pharmacy and occasional actor Colin Farrell is taking all the heat for corrupting sweet ickle Bwitney, though. He wasn’t anywhere to be found at the June 2002 launch party for her abortive NYLA cafe (which closed $400,000 in the hole nine months later), so I guess there must have been another reason why she had her security clear the bathroom every time she wanted to use it, which was about every half-hour. What’s confusing us is why she was acting like a Trick Daddy video ho on a promo date for Pepsi in Spain just last week. Time was, if you wanted to stop photographers gettin’ all up in ya grill, you’d put a hand over the lens, or just cold-cock them fools like Sean Penn and Tommy Lee. So what does Britney do? She sits down, no drawers, legs akimbo, and flashes her cooch. “Ha! They’ll never publish these shots!” The fuck they won’t.

Daryl Hannah’s been asked to host a party during the forthcoming LA fashion week. Her one condition? The organizer pays for her girlfriend to come along too. That’s “girlfriend”, fellas.

We’re not allowed to tell you about the orgy that took place in Valdemossa, Majorca, in the Mediterranean a couple of years back. Nor are we allowed to tell you that it involved three strippers, two bodyguards, one aging Lothario/hellraiser, one actor/producer/son of Hollywood legend and one former bodybuilder/gubernatorial high-flyer. What, you want us closed down? Go ask the locals instead.

From Axel F to “Eff Axl!”: The once-whiny-voiced, now-scraggly-voiced Axl Rose is now on attempt number 6,492 to recapture the Guns & Roses lightning in a bottle. As has been well documented, basically nobody from any incarnations of the actual band want to work with Axl anymore because they sobered up and realized that he’s just a talentless dick. (OK, so Slash didn’t sober up, but what the fuck is Slash doing, anyway? Like he’s gonna be pried away from his Breakfast Fifth of Jack to go hit the studio with a has-been vocalist who can’t even sing anymore.) So Axl has apparently stepped to Timbaland asking for some support for this current catastrophe in the making. It seems like a good idea, right? Timbaland has expressed many times that he’s bored with hip-hop and wants to branch out into other genres. Axl, meanwhile, has been trying to hop on the hip-hop bandwagon in his own way, and he sure could use the starpower boost that Timmy could provide. The problem is that Timbo shot Axl down with extreme prejudice. Not only did he say he wouldn’t work on the project, he claimed no amount of money would get him in the studio because he doesn’t work with “washed-up white trash.” No word yet on what Bubba Sparxx thinks of that last quip.

In other hacks-approaching-superstar-producers news, Kelly Osbourne stepped to The Neptunes in search of some N*E*R*D-inflected tracks for her sophomore album. Realizing that the term “Kelly Osbourne’s sophomore album” brings about the same reaction in people as the phrase “tossing Warren Sapp’s salad,” Pharrell and Kato—oh, I mean Chad—declined. This officially makes Kelly Osbourne the first person the Neptunes have turned down. First ol’ Kel tries to make herself over into a whore, and she can’t even give it away. Now even the whores of high-profile production won’t take her business. Not even Sharon the Shark can negotiate a happy ending to this story, I don’t think.

On the low-low, Sean Paul has caught his first case as a celebrity. The dancehall star and remix favorite (yo Sean, why haven’t you and Busta gone ahead and done an album that’s all remixes the two of you have appeared on for other artists?) got pulled for doing over 100 mph in his whip, but the fun doesn’t stop there. As Mr. Dutty Man opened the door, a nice pungent cloud of sticky-icky-icky wafted out, prompting the officers to tack on charges of marijuana possession, and—get this—Levitra. Damn, dude can’t even get Viagra, he’s gotta go to Levitra? Irv Gotti, hold ya head.

Cash Money Records co-head/eyesore Baby may be in for some family shuffling. The youngster he often referred to as his son, Li’l Wayne (who is no doubt severely warped from spending his formative teenage years under the Birdman’s disturbing wing), is a bit miffed that Baby now has a new youngster to roll with, the no-long-Li’l Bow Wow. Come on, Wayne, you know the rules—once you hit 18, you’re dead in Baby’s eyes. Baby’s on some Children of the Corn shit, crossed with the Colonel from Boogie Nights. Only underagers need apply. So Wayne could very well complete the Hot Boys retreat from CMR. Look for the group to reform among the squalor of a New Orleans crackhouse/shooting gallery in the near future. Look for those rumors about Bow Wow and the limo driver to start back up, realize that Bow Wow rolls with the Birdman an awful lot, then put two and two together. Looks like Bow Wow’s old benefactor, Jermaine Dupri, ain’t the only pedophile in this here rap game.

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