The condo manager called again today. He said something about the peep show you've been running on the side of the garage. I told him we don't have a garage. He made a funny noise and asked me what I was wearing. There's something weird about this place. I always feel like someone's watching me, and sometimes there's this repetitive thumping on the wall. There was a lot of that going on this week. See what I mean after the jump.

If I say greasy little chumpot with cheap weave who do you think of? Why, Britney, of course. This week Britney celebrated her 26th birthday by crashing another party, only to have her party crashed by frenemy Paris Hilton, who was eager to share some career advice. Britney repaid her kindness by < href="http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/showbiz/bizarre/article556910.ece" target="blank" >threatening to make public a lesbian sex video with a mutual friend. Yeah, like we haven't seen that before.

Beyonce finally showed us that other sweaty little pit she's been threatening us with. Hmm. Don't see any flesh-toned undergarments here. Mama will say I told you so.

Grammy nominations were released, with Kanye West getting eight and drug fiend Amy Winehouse getting six. It doesn't look like her success is helping her keep her nose clean.

John Mayer was back on the prowl this week, confessing his mad lust for the newly svelte Ricki Lake, then veering wildly into a bout with a ferocious sea creature, before allowing himself to be led to safety.

While Hayden Panetierre cloaks herself in a mantle of purity and virtue, PrettyBoring reminds us that those comparisons to Lindsay Lohan may not be too far-fetched.

Speaking of, Lohan spent the week getting rid of a pudgy little nobody so she could have bi-coastal relations - with a smelly guy in New York and then with the Greek shipping heir in LA. Somehow she's learned how to sleep around without the alcohol. Mom must be so proud.

Kiefer Sutherland chose to serve out his 48-day sentence in Glendale, where he may get dishpan hands but he won't do the brokeback shuffle.

Did Jessica Simpson's manager have to pay Jessica Simpson's pimp for setting her up with that football player? Is the football player getting paid, too? While these questions and more remain unanswered ("Is it chicken or tuna?"), Jessica is wasting no time riding that hard and putting it away wet. Or just wearing it down to a painful nub.

Rachael Ray blames the dog for her deviant sex-plagued marriage. He must have some serious dirt on her; she obviously can't stand his touch.