Every once in a while when you take the subway in New York City, the train stops without warning and remains idle for a very long time. Eventually, a fuzzy voice comes on the intercom and informs the passengers that the delay is from someone on the train having a medical emergency. The fuzzy voice then thanks you for your patience and promises things will be moving shortly. Obviously, it’s annoying to be late for work, but it’s important to put yourself in the position of the sick person; at the very least, you’d expect people to be understanding and accommodating while you were trying to get off a train and into a hospital.

Anyway, a delay of this sort occurred on my ride to work this morning. I was aboard a packed N train, listening to my iPod and reading Newsweek, when the conductor suddenly hit the brakes and everything came to a screeching stop. This happens a couple times a month, so I thought nothing of it. But, after about 10 minutes I realized we still hadn’t moved. I looked up from my magazine to see what was going on. To my surprise, I noticed there was a good 10-15 foot clearing around me on all sides. People were backing away from me like I was some sort of monster, all of them staring at me with looks of terror on their faces.

Turns out, I was the one having the medical emergency! Apparently, I had been barfing. A lot. Like, it was all over the place. I guess I was so caught up in what I was reading I didn’t notice that every time I exhaled, a thick arc of vomit was exploding out of my mouth. God, I felt like such a doof. There must have been three or four gallons of my vomit on the floor.  Soooo embarrassing!

I think all the uncontrollable barfing was just my body’s natural reaction to reading an editorial piece written by actor Michael Douglas in the latest issue of Newsweek entitled, “The Role of a Lifetime.” In it, we discover that Michael Douglas thinks a weekly news magazine is the perfect forum to publish the first draft of his family’s Christmas Newsletter.

(Warning: If you read this, you will probz barf.)

I’ve been married for seven years to an extraordinary woman 25 years younger than me, actress Catherine Zeta-Jones. We have two children, a daughter, 4, and a son, 7. To say my priorities have changed would be a gross understatement!…They are at a precious age, and I don’t want to miss a minute of it…Carys is at the stage when she’s discovered “dress-up”: purses, high heels–anything pink. Dylan is a big climber–rocks, mountains and trees. He loves the outdoors. I read with my kids every night. That has become a favorite for me.

Awww. That’s great, Michael Douglas! I’m so glad this is in a news magazine! What else, pray tell, is new with the Douglas fam?

We’ve moved to the island of Bermuda, where I spent a lot of time as a kid.

Who didn’t spend a lot time in Bermuda as a kid? Seriously though, how has your life changed since you moved to back to Bermuda?

I adjust my schedule to my wife’s, since she is in the prime of her career.

Wasn’t the prime of her career back when she was in movies and stuff? Whatever. All I really want to know is this: what is it like for Michael Douglas to be a day-to-day daddy? 

The kids know what Mommy does for a living, but they have never seen Daddy’s movies (they’re too young), so Mommy makes movies and Daddy makes pancakes!

HAHA! Daddy makes pancakes! Really? Michael Douglas making pancakes. That’s wonderful. 

I don’t really cook, but I am the takeout and home-delivery expert.

SO THE TRUTH COMES OUT!  You sly dog, you. Of course you don’t cook. That is too funny. All jokes aside, what about you, Michael Douglas? How are you doing? Didn’t moving to Bermuda make it impossible for you to do acting work? What about the projects you really care about?

Don’t get me wrong. I still go to work, but now only on projects I really care about. I have a new movie coming out called “King of California.” We filmed it in only 31 days, not like some of the 90-day shooting schedules of the past.

Thank God. That’s fantastic. Hey, could you possibly tell me more about this “King of California” project?

I play a father who reconciles with his 17-year-old daughter, played by Evan Rachel Wood. I understood and identified with the role. My oldest son from my first marriage, Cameron, who is 28, did not benefit from my new priorities. He was shortchanged. Nevertheless he understands now, and he knows how much I love him.

Well, if he doesn’t know, all he has to do is read Newsweek like the rest of us. 

When I went to college at the University of California, Santa Barbara, in the 1960s, you could graduate with a degree in home economics. It was eventually disbanded largely due to politics and the power of the women’s movement.

What?

I’m happy to see that “home ec” is currently being revived at some colleges.

Seriously, Michael Douglas, what the fuck are you talking about?

Basically, you want to try to leave this earth having given more to it than having taken away. That makes you a good citizen of the planet. If I can pass this on from generation to generation, that’s as close to immortality as I can hope to get.

Oh, really? You really think that? You don’t possibly think your two Oscars might immortalize you? Oops, guess what? You just got PLIPPS. And so did your kids. Even the damaged 28 year-old. PLIPPS. Also, the entire staff at Newsweek for letting this get published…PLIPPS. PLIPPS. PLIPPS. 

I’m seriously considering cancelling my cable subscription and spending $120 a month exclusively on whippits, because I’m pretty sure the net brain cell loss would be about the same. If not less.

I say this because last night was the premiere of MTV’s new show “Celebrity Rap Superstar.” The show is superb and probably my new favorite, but I’m pretty sure I forgot at least 8 state capitals just by watching it. The premise is simple: celebrities (a gossip blogger, Kevin Federline’s black ex-girlfriend, a retired football player, etc.) perform rap-karaoke with the help and guidance of their very own washed up rap superstar mentor. In other words, it’s all you could ever want or need from a television show.

There were two performances in particular that were utterly mind-blowing. The first was when Jason Wahler from Laguna Beachhad a full-blown PLIPPS attack while performing his rendition of the hip-hop classic “Ridin’” by Chamillionaire.

I think the problem was Jason Wahler thought he was cast for a show called “Celebrity Act Like an Out of Touch Camp Counselor Superstar.” Because, in that case, he nailed it.

By the way, Da Brat is a ZING MACHINE. (That’s a term I use for “stoned lesbian.”)

Here’s Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite doing a 50 Cent song:

It might have sounded really bad, but that’s only because this was the lyric sheet they gave him:

“In Da Club”
by: Fiddy Cent (not Fifty Cents)

You can find me in the club, body full of bub.
Mama, I got what you need if you need to feel a buzz.
I’m into having sex, not into making love.
So come give me a hug if you’re into ruh-muh-a-ruh.
If I pull up on funny, you see the bend on dup.
If I row twenty deep, it’s always jumping in the club.
When I roll with Dre, everybody show me love.
When I throw Eminem, you better ehhhhhm’love.
Zuh-muh-nuh-ma-nuh, … Jesus.

(Stop and squint eyes.)

If I got Shamu: L, M, N, O, Pimp.
Eh-guh…ha-choo, ch…guh…hassah hit.
If….ung-uh in LA, esta 50 is hot.
If I like me and I love me, but they love pot.
But holla in New York and Joe tell me I’m loco.
But holla in New York…en-summa-nuh choke-oh.

The voters should at least take that into consideration. Also, the fact that he seems to be a mentally retarded foreign person.

Prediction: This contest is Sebastian Bach’s to lose. He pwned it.

Every week, my girlfriend punishes me by making me watch So You Think You Can Dance with her. At first, the show was so intensely gay that I couldn’t even handle it. But, as the season progressed I managed to slowly build a tolerance to it, forming a callous on my brain.

During last night’s broadcast, however, there was a dance that totally shattered my new-found resolve. The typical amount of gayness that I’ve grown accustomed to was somehow combined with an equal (if not larger) amount of profound retardation. Plus a hint of Disney. The result was, without rival, the most intensely WTF thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

I’d give Wade Robson PLIPPS, but I feel like he’s already given it to himself. Only a PLIPPS victim would wear a flowy linen hippie shirt with sanskrit lettering all over it. Or choreograph a dance for national television about rabid lesbian foxes. What a mess.

I hate these people.

Yet, I have set my TiVo to record every episode of season 3. (Is self-schadenfreude a thing? Because I have it.)

And, despite what I previously thought, it looks as though PLIPPS is indeed contagious. Look what Brody Jenner did to poor Mr. Belding:

Barf. Everything about that picture is a nightmare.

I’m willing to bet $20 that my man Brody’s tongue got stained by drinking a six-pack of Ed Hardy Energy Drinks.

Today I am introducing a new segment to my blog called “U got P.L.I.P.P.S.”

P.L.I.P.P.S., for those of you who don’t already know, is a disease I made up. It’s a lot like A.I.D.S. and cancer, only worse. You can only get P.L.I.P.P.S. if you are a huge, obnoxious douche-bag who is famous for no reason and I hate you. 

(Also, I have no idea what it’s an acronym for.)

I am currently the only person in the world qualified to diagnose PLIPPS. But, being the good Samaritan I am, I will occasionally use my blog as a platform to identify those inflicted with PLIPPS as a matter of public safety.

Hopefully, over time, others will be able to diagnose PLIPPS for themselves. And in turn, more people will be diagnosed with, and hopefully die of, PLIPPS.

So here goes…

The first person to be publicly outed with PLIPPS is none other than TV’s Brody Jenner.

I was watching MTV Cribs this weekend, and this motherfucker was on giving a tour of his scenic $24,000,000 Malibu house.

Only, it wasn’t really his house…it was his parent’s house. Only, it wasn’t really his parent’s house, it was his stepdad’s house. Only, it wasn’t really his stepdad’s house, it was his mom’s house, which she got via a divorce settlement from his stepdad.

Did you follow that? This dude was on national TV, without any shame, parading around an amazing house that he gets to live in solely because his mom is an evil, money-grubbing cunt.

If you don’t think that alone deserves a slow, painful death from PLIPPS, just look at Brody Jenner’s wikipedia page and tell me you don’t want him dead.

•  Brody Jenner (born August 21, 1983), a reality television celebrity and model, is the younger son of Olympic decathlon champion Bruce Jenner and actress Linda Thompson.

• He is a stepson of songwriter David Foster and a stepbrother of Kim Kardashian.

•  Jenner dated actress Kristin Cavallari of Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County for about one year.

• Weeks after his break up with Cavallari, in August 2006, he began seeing longtime friend, Nicole Richie.

• Multiple internet gossip columns, and Richie herself through her MySpace blog, have suggested that the relationship between Jenner and Richie was staged for publicity purposes.

• Most recently, Jenner has been romantically linked to Haylie Duff.

I just barfed on my keyboard. No joke. By the way, I just decided that all the people on his wikipedia have PLIPPS too, even the person who spent the time writing it.