Jeff hates fame whores

I want to meet the person who decided it would be a good idea to market a bunch of spoiled, rich nobodies as celebrities and pull his kidneys out through his ear holes.

We’ve had people who were famous for being famous for ages. Look at Zsa Zsa Gabor. Her claim to fame was slapping a cop and then recently losing a leg, falling into a coma and then hemorrhaging from her stomach. She was a sort-of actress many years ago, but she’s mostly famous for her many rich and/or royal husbands. But at least she knew where she stood.

Fast forward to modern times and we get Paris Hilton. She’s an example of someone who was given everything she wanted, and when that wasn’t enough, she was foisted on a public who didn’t ask for her, not unlike genital warts.

Hilton was allowed to model, but one would think that being remotely attractive would be a bare minimum requirement for modeling. Her face is more lopsided than Shannon Doherty’s, and Doherty could double for The Toxic Avenger.

Unfortunately, someone out there found her attractive, at least enough that he was willing to film himself schtupping her.

So now that we’ve all seen Paris’s France, it’s time to put her spoiled, whiny mug on TV. To make matters worse, we team her up with Nicole Richie, whose claim to fame is being the adopted daughter of the “Dancin’ on the Ceiling” guy.

Paris and Nicole are famous for having rich parents, but at least those parents gave us nice things like comfortable luxury roomettes or songs like “All Night Long.” Kim Kardashian also comes to us spoiled, rich and from a famous father; Robert Kardashian, who was part of the team that got O.J. off.

That’s nothing to brag about, so Kim got foisted upon us the old-fashioned way; she put out a sex tape. Instead of a Nicole Richie, Kim brought along her alliterative siblings Klambake and Kaptain Krunch for her TV show. The show doesn’t have an actual theme or even a point at all. At least on “The Osbournes,” a confused and bewildered Ozzy had to clean up the odd pile of dog turds. I’d love to see Krispy Kreme or Klaptrap Kardashian do that.

Kim had a big, multi-million dollar wedding with a sucky player from a sucky team. After 72 days, she filed for divorce. We’re supposed to be all abuzz about this quick marriage, but what I want to know is who thought it would be a good idea to finance a big public wedding for a nobody. For that kind of money, we could have gotten yet another superhero movie or at least a head start on the new season of “Arrested Development.”

Another person you can’t go more than 30 feet without smelling is the walking tragedy, Lindsay Lohan. What makes Lohan’s case so bad is that she wanted to be just like Hilton, when she could have been so much more. She had a budding career and amazing cred just from the “Freaky Friday” remake and “Mean Girls.” Her bosoms were too luscious for Disney and they digitally altered them for the newest “Herbie” film.

She decided that there were things she enjoyed way more than having a respectable career, like cocaine, vodka and Marlboros. Lindsay took this to the next logical step and went on a spree of drug binges, drunk driving, jewel theft and blindly stalking lesbians like Mr. Magoo chasing after McBarker. Luckily, in L.A., none of these actions actually come with any consequences, so she’s free to jam half of Los Angeles county up her nose.

Since she doesn’t have much of a career these days, she was briefly frightened that she’d have to serve some real jail time, so she did what any of us would do: She talked “Playboy” into handing her nearly a million bucks for pictures of her own Magoo.

She’s got yellow, tar stained fingers, leathery, sun-damaged skin, and the teeth of a coprophage (that’s a big word for someone who likes to eat doodie) and Playboy was willing to shell out a ridiculous amount of cash to see the full monty, banking that people want to see it.

And do we?

To ashamedly paraphrase Ron White, “Yeah, we kinda do.”