literate smut: tinseltown - take 1!

And A C T I O N . . . Some people may not know this about me, but I actually possess a PhD in Celebrity Exposés. I'd like to take a moment to present a brief composite of the research I've compiled over the past several grueling years spent devoted to conditioning my psyche with single-minded scholastic scrutiny into these indispensable case studies of tinseltown ethos:

Six Degrees of Paris Hilton by Mark Ebner

The good news: If you're a true glutton for punishment, but still can't stomach the notion of reading a book about an overgrown and underfed hotel scion with plastic hair and enormous feet, you'll be happy to know this gonzo tome has practically nothing to do with Paris Hilton. The bad news: If you feel you might be uncomfortable with any aspect of the truly filthy underbelly flopping uneasily beneath the Versace belt of Hollywood's neon six-pack of depravity, you will positively squirm at the sickening sequence of events outlined in this anthology of ballsy investigative journalism penned by showbiz super-sleuth Mark Ebner. I've always been fascinated by Hollywood's wolfish appetite for psycho starlets and their inevitable extermination from pop culture, but after reading this captivating account detailing the myriad exploits of presently-incarcerated criminal mastermind Darnell Riley and his posse of crooked California comrades, I have become damn near fanatical about soaking up as much diabolical lawbreaking juice as my wet-behind-the-ears little brain can absorb.

dapqueen gives it: 4 out of 5 casting couches

The Truth About Diamonds by Nicole Richie

An actual page-turning secret pleasure by Nicole Richie that hysterically dismisses the entire Hollywood faux-fawning/dick-stroking party scene in one jewel-sparkling swish of a bony wrist. This wry and catty satire provides a meow-wow look into the life of an on the rise B-lister who harbors some steadily escalating ill will toward a certain infamous celebrity racist (see above) she's been BFF with since kittenhood, as well as the rest of the aristocratic fameball bunch she regularly humps around Hell-A with (imagine: smokin' laced cigs in drug dens with Diddy; martini-swillin' at thousand-buck-bottle V.I.P. tables that come magically equipped with mirrored tabletops, thus rendering line formation in the powder room a mere inconvenience of clichéd '80s lore; and a top secret transmission of the mysterious world of haute couture's glitziest grimesters and its carnival of neurotic survival of-the-fittest riddles reported in exhaustive detail. Again, imagine: bingin', purgin', starvin', druggin', vom-ooping. Pop a TrimSpa, baby, spew one for the team, rinse, repeat, ad nauseam. Got that? Neither do I). With fierce characterization and attention to detail, Richie illustrates the fameballs' insoluble celluloid germination and punishes them with words for their assault on the festering tabloid industry that has by now given way to a full-blown rebirth of scandal sheets and digital defamers that have encircled all of our existences for nearly a decade. The result? An overflowing squirt of many new vast and torturous celebrity empires of idiocy, such as the golden-showered skinned Kardashian clan and all the rest of those loud annoying bitches on the E! channel. Bravo, Nicole!

dapqueen sez: 5 out of 5 casting couches

Star by Pamela Anderson

It has been an utterly disheartening experience to endure the constant scoffing people project upon the high praise I award this splendid fairy tale that depicts the ultra-shiny disco dusted planet that the "fictional" Star Wood Leigh resides on. If you've read enough bleak Bastard out of Carolina-esque accounts of cheerless family laments to last you a lifetime, this breezy beachside read might be a truly welcome respite. Solid gold, Pam. I feel that heat.

dapqueen shouts it from the rooftops: 5 out of 5 makeshift casting couches/tanning beds

sTORI Telling by um, hmm... oh! by Tori Spelling

Just... no. If you've ever tried peering into the soulless, money-hungry vacuum that is Aaron Spelling's darling daughter and imagined you might feel even a microscopic frisson of stimulation, you'd be dangerously mistaken. GIRL, PLEASE! You grew up in an opulent palace, starred in the '90s teen soap du jour with Shannen Doherty at the apotheosis of her wayward infamy, lived through at least one questionably successful schnozz-job, and your mom had a frakin' present wrapping room in the Spelling manor - yet even your ghostwriter removed herself from attempting to extract one peewee scrap of luminescence from the nebulous abyss of your personality? T, I totally had your back and you totally let me down! Why you gotta do me like that, T?

Cita, you tried warning me! What can I say? When you're right, you're right!

dapqueen murmurs: 1 out of 5 breakfast nook stools (that is where she landed those roles, right?)

Well, clearly I have exquisite taste in literature. Be sure to tune in for future installments of my exploratory celebrity probings! Next time I will include a shiny new cluster of firm but fair critiques, including the scintillating works of Leguizamo, Lords, and... Superhead? Cheers!