It’s officially gone too far.

Angelina’s gynecologist made a statement to the press on Wednesday, revealing that his high-profile patient is in good health and only in hospital (following speculation things are going wrong with her even more high-profile pregnancy) as a precaution, since she had a C-section with her first pregnancy.

A source “closeâ€� to the clinic where Angelina is to bring her little bundle of publicity joy into the world said it’s only a matter of weeks – mid-August. Mark your calendars, people!

We’re more than disturbed about the fact that gynecologists are now doing press conferences for celebrities. It makes us wonder if Non-Disclosure Agreements are far behind the HIPAA statements, liability releases, and insurance forms women must complete when they visit their “unh-unh areaâ€� doctor.

We wish Angelina and Brad the best of luck with the remainder of the pregnancy and the birth…but we also beg them: rein in the doctors before it’s too late; we don’t need to know the details of Brad’s prostate exams, either.

Although it isn’t a very public campaign, actress Charlize Theron has been taking time to stump for Barack Obama in the 2008 Presidential Election race.

Theron is a new citizen in America – she was born in South Africa – but the newness hasn’t stopped her from doing her celebrity duty (we think speaking out in favor of Democratic candidates is contractually obliged) to toss her hat into the political ring.

Her very first vote in an American election will go the Obama – and she has been busy trying to convince her Republican pals to change their minds and do the same. “I think everybody knows I’m backing Barack Obama,â€� she’s said. “There’s certain things about him that I find truly inspiring. After his speech on race, I emailed a few people I knew who are probably going to vote Republican and suggested that they really listen to that speech.”

We applaud Charlize for her patriotic enthusiasm and her subtle support. In a world where personal politics is all too public, it’s refreshing to hear someone of her stature is engaging a quiet e-mail campaign to spread the word – rather than assailing us all with screeching opinions (be they Republican, Democratic, conservative, liberal, or the Bald Brummies Against the Big Footed Conspiracy Party) and using public regard to bully people into their choices.

Nicole Kidman has decided to introduce her child to the horrors of the world by creating a mix CD she’ll listen to during labor, consisting entirely of music by her husband Keith Urban and Irish flutist James Galway.

Galway we can get behind; his music is soothing, melodic, and skillful. He plays his native traditional music and masterful classic music with equal ease.

But Urban? Has she ever heard her husband’s music?

We can’t imagine listening to affected, over-the-top country that ranges from cry-in-my-beer maudlin to a horribly misguided attempt at American bluegrass while trying to concentrate on pushing a baby through the birth canal.

Here’s a small sampler of the sort of lyrics to which the Urban/Kidman spawn will be exposed in its earliest moments:

And it’s good old country comfort in my bones
It’s the sweetest sound these ears have ever known
It’s just an old-fashioned feeling fully-grown
Country comfort and a truck that’s goin’ back home (from “Country Comfortâ€�)

Somethin’ deep inside of me
Must have died some time ago
I haven’t called no place my home
Since nineteen-ninety-four
I’m out on my own (from “Out on My Ownâ€� - lovely sentiments for a husband and father-to-be, no?)

Taste the wild honey, listen to the sound
Of the wind that’s blowin’ through the trees (from “These Are The Daysâ€�)

What’s even better? Kidman and Urban, both from down under – that’s right, Urban’s not an American cowboy, but a New Zealander – are reported to have reserved a private delivery room in Nashville, TN.

The sun is shinin’
And this road keeps windin’
Through the prettiest country
From Georgia to Tennessee
And I got the one I love beside me
My troubles behind me
I’m alive and I’m free
Who wouldn’t wanna be me (from “Who Wouldn’t Wanna Be Meâ€� - Keith, newsflash: you’re from New Zealand!)

Our sincerest condolences to the child-to-be.

Oh, don’t worry…Carey will not be running cross-country himself; that would be too much like exercise. No, he’s making the pizzas do the running, traveling from Ohio to California.

To celebrate the season finale of The Price is Right, Carey ordered 45 pizzas from Antonio’s Pizza in Parma, Ohio. In true diva fashion, the game show host demanded that the pizzeria find a way to ship the order from its location near Cleveland all the way to Los Angeles, where the show is taped. Carey told the pizzeria owners that cost was not an issue.

The plus-sized punster spent $450 on the pies themselves; the cost to ship them has not yet been made public.

Carey made a name for himself by starring in his own sitcom, hosting the comedy improv show Whose Line is it, Anyway? and finally landing the plum gig as Bob Barker’s replacement on the longest running television game show. Faster than Drew could gobble a Big Mac, his name was popping up everywhere.

Desperate to downplay his Republican leanings and reputation as a stiff, judgemental conservative, Carey decided to splurge and treat the game show staff….but on his terms and with the pizza of his choosing.

“Everybody loves a good pizza,” Carey said.

Some people love salad too, Drew. We hear Slim Fast doesn’t taste too bad, either.

Apparently the McGraw family are in training to duke it out with some neighbors and/or family for a celebrity episode of Cops.

First, Faith Hill goes OFF on a female fan who grabbed her husband Tim’s crotch. Now, Tim has joined his wife in the boxing ring by helping to eject a belligerent fan at one of his shows.

While performing in Auburn, Washington on June 24, McGraw’s show was interrupted when “a heavy set man with sloppy attire” (a heavy set man with sloppy attire at a country music concert…hmmm…how unusual…are we sure it wasn’t Larry the Cable Guy?) caused a commotion. According to McGraw’s press representative, the man assaulted a female fan, and when security could not respond quickly enough, McGraw took charge. Yelling “Get rid of this guy!”, the country singer helped security haul the man onstage. When the man moved toward McGraw, Tim raises a cocked fist and looks like he is about to belt the guy before security separates the two.

Recording a duet with rapper Nelly must have McGraw thinking he is the new Nashville Thug. Maybe he is needing to reaffirm his manhood, reminding everyone that Faith does NOT wear the pants in the family. Or maybe “kickin it” with his “posse” around town lately has Tim reliving his 20-something butt-kicker days.

And we thought he was just wearing a “do-rag” to cover up the fact the is bald as an Easter egg.

The footage of the altercation can be seen on Youtube.com:

Well, it appears we are well on our way to one heckuva of an international incident, worthy of a Dynasty cliffhanger.

Mere days after word leaked that Martha Stewart’s status as an EX-CON is keeping her from entering the UK, it now seems that the U.S. has refused to let Boy George through its borders, for just the same reason.

47-year-old George Alan O’Dowd, the Londoner better known as Boy George, is said to be devastated at the news that he would not be allowed to bring his latest tour to the states. The U.S. government has denied the Boy’s visa due to his past criminal history and his pending false imprisonment trial this November.

Apparently, the former Culture Club lead singer picked up a hustler, brought him back to his luscious pad, and then proceeded to chain the boy to the apartment wall. Now while we are confident that this is not the first time a hustler has been…well, let’s say “restrained”, you also have to admit that being handcuffed to a wall and then seeing Boy George coming at you would be enough to send anyone into a year’s worth of intensive therapy. That would give even Rosie O’Donnell the shivers.

“He is clearly not considered any form of risk,” O’Dowd’s management said. “George really would love to come to America and repay his American fans’ loyalty and that is why we are asking the U.S. authorities to reconsider their decision.”

Let’s ask the poor, innocent, young hustler if Boy George should be allowed unlimited access to his remaining American fans (all 12 of them). Maybe being handcuffed to a wall on this side of the ocean is actually the new way to worship your favorite disturbed ex-con teenage idol from the 80s.

Raging bundle-of-crazy Naomi Campbell was sentenced to 200 hours of community service on June 20 for an “air rage” incident on a plane last April that would make even John McEnroe shudder.

Allegedly (we know: at this point using the word “allegedly” to describe anything involving Naomi Campbell is an act of futility), once Campbell was told that one of her bags was not placed on the plane she was traveling on, the former supermodel/currently super-unhinged “cursed, kicked at police, spat at police, and accused the airline of racism for losing her bag” during an “incident” (we prefer “snit-fit”) at Heathrow Airport.

(If losing your bags makes you a racist, then every airline in the country needs to be prepared to go bankrupt from lawsuits.)

Campbell, 38, was removed from the flight after she insisted that the plane be delayed until her bag was found and delivered to her. She told the police that she would not have been removed if she were white.

The best part: Magistrate Peter Yiacoumi told Campbell that she was getting credit for past good behavior. What?? Did he not realize who was sitting in the courtroom? Was he getting her confused with some other crazy, messed-up supermodel? This woman cannot go one week without beating someone with a phone, screaming herself hoarse at a restaurant, or throwing herself around a department store in a fit.

But the courts decided to only fine her the English currency equivalent of $4,600, and ordered her to pay each police officer $400 and pay the captain of the plane $300.

To get an idea of what it is like to experience one of Naomi Campbell’s explosions, one just needs to look up “Angry German Kid” on Youtube.

Due to the fact that she is an EX-CON, celebrity entrepreneur Martha Stewart has been denied entry into Britain.

“We continue to oppose the entry to the UK of individuals where we believe their presence in the United Kingdom is not conducive to the public good or where they have been found guilty of serious criminal offenses abroad,” said a spokesperson for Britain’s Home Office, which runs the UK Border Agency and can block the entry of any US citizen into the country.

Stewart’s entry refusal is due to the fact that the was convicted in 2004 for lying about a stock sale and served ten months; five months in prison and five months under house arrest. This, of course, makes her an EX-CON.

While we have definite issues with the EX-CON getting five months of house arrest (we feel that decision punished her staff much more than it punished the offender and EX-CON; they earned a ten month break from the media monster, not five), the issue here is whether Britain should deny entry to someone who obviously poses no threat to the safety of the UK.

Or does she? If we take a moment to look at America before the EX-CON took over and declared that no one in the entire country has one smidgen of taste and decorum (with the exception of her and her well trained monkeys), we would see a happy America, a content America…an America at peace.

Now as our land lies in ruins, the EX-CON wants to visit other countries…perhaps to inflict the same holiday decorations and stain removal tips to an unsuspecting nation! Can we really blame the hordes of screaming and frightened peoples to deny the EX-CON the right to give them dinner party tips?

Can we blame the villagers for being frightened? What would YOU do if you saw the EX-CON Martha Stewart barreling toward YOUR city?

Could it be that the self proclaimed white trash queen is ready to crawl out of the kindergarten sandbox and be a lady?

It seems that 37-year-old Richards, who has been duking it out in the press with her ex-husband Charlie Sheen since their increasingly ugly split in 2005, has had enough. She says she now hopes that with Sheen’s recent remarriage, they can put the past behind them.

“He loves to trash me in the press and discredit me and has tried to sabotage my show,” Richards said. “I can’t change that, so I just keep living my life. I hope that now that he’s married, he can move forward and be civil.”

Well considering that Sheen, proud of his womanizing and past drug and alcohol abuse, takes marriage about as seriously as Amy Winehouse takes rehab, the chances of domestication making him grow up are pretty slim. Since their separation, Sheen has accused Richards of just about everything possible, including motherly neglect and drug abuse of her own.

We feel for Richards, though. Just because she poses nude in movies and magazines, exposes herself during heavy partying, steals her best friend’s husband, and cusses like a sailor, that is no reason to judge her harshly as a publicity chasing celebrity with no real class. You can just look to her new reality show currently being broadcast on E!, “Denise Richards: It’s Complicated” for that. Yes, this is the same show where she proclaimed proudly, “I’m still white trash at heart”.

Don’t worry, Denise, we had no doubt about that.

So now that she wants to make nice with Sheen, we say why not? It’s not like the next few years won’t bring with them a long list of ex-lovers, ex-fiancees, and ex-spouses that we don’t even know about yet. Between Sheen and Richards, we anticipate a good ten years of some serious immaturity and arrests before either one of them decides it’s time to start acting like grown-ups. So we say go ahead and bury the hatchet you two, you’ll be battling it out with plenty of other people who have seen you both naked in no time at all.

George Carlin has died, at age 71.

George started out his career as clean-cut as they come, with a suit and a tie and an almost weatherman-like delivery. He was funny, and smart. When he ditched the suit and grew a beard, and eventually slipped into his soon-to-become-trademark black shirt and pants, he went beyond funny. He became much more than a comedian; he became the person who said the things other people wanted to say, but didn’t.

Carlin had a reverence and love for words and the power inherent in them. He was intelligent and clever, and while most of the audience “got him,” the rest had to laugh because of how eloquently he outwitted them. He ranted about soft, bloodless, sanitized language. And once joked that though everyone feared getting old and dying, he would never have to, because instead he could “pass away,” “expire,” or “suffer from a terminal episode.”

George Carlin used lots of “foul” language in his act, but when he cursed, the words became much more than mere swear words. They became meditations on the absurdity of why four or five little letters put together should become so much more than the sum of its parts. His “Seven Words” changed comedy, and even law. When a recording of that part of his act was aired on the radio in New York, the court battle went all the way to the Supreme Court, where in 1978, the court upheld the FCC’s right to punish stations for airing such language.

“So my name is a footnote in American legal history,” Carlin told the Associated Press, “which I’m perversely proud of.”

Carlin was an atheist who was openly and highly critical of organized religion. He was highly critical of government and war as well—but most of all, he was critical of stupidity in whatever shape it appeared. And he was a master at finding the stupid, pointing it out to us, and making us laugh about how we’d never even considered it before.

He admitted to the drug and alcohol abuse that was so common in celebrities of his era. Something more uncommon among entertainers of his popularity—he was married to his first wife, Brenda, whom he would call on stage with, “C’mere, lover,” until her death from cancer in 1997—a marriage that lasted 34 years. He’s in the Comedy Hall of Fame, was the host for the premiere of Saturday Night Live in 1975, has done over a dozen HBO specials (one as recently as March), best-selling books, award-winning comedy albums. . . to list everything Carlin accomplished seems superfluous. You can read his biography almost anywhere, and it’s an impressive one. Before he died, he was even chosen to receive the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor in November.

But a list of those things, even a list of his hilarious quotes, can’t possibly even hint at what Carlin was—you need to see or hear him to get it. It helps if you grew up listening to him, but even today you can go back and watch his “Seven Words” act, for instance, and though the words themselves can now be heard regularly on cable TV, the message is just as relevant today as it was then. He made it okay…desirable…necessary to think. You could be cool and think—he was, he did, and so can you! You can, and you even should, question everything. And if you deem something to be BS, hey, it probably is, and good for you for figuring out!

We have a feeling that Carlin wouldn’t approve of sappy sentimentality and flowery outpourings of grief—he was far too cool a dude for all that BS. And since this isn’t the place for those Seven Words, even in tribute to the master, we’ll make it brief. The C, S, F, and P words might not make us flinch anymore, but there is one word that feels all wrong today, one that we don’t want to say, probably the foulest word of all: Goodbye.