And it's not filled with terms of endearment.

Suposedly, Shirley's daughter Sachi Parker, who's now 56, has written a bitter memoir called Lucky Me: My Life With--and Without--My Mom.

It threatens to be the new Momie Dearest, or at least the new My Mother's Keeper (the sour tome written by Bette Davis's daughter B.D. Hyman, which sent Bette into a spiral of despair.)

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Remember when I wrote that Calvin Klein was nuts to throw a gala party toasting his love for ex-porn player Nick Gruber (a writeup which resulted in a hailstorm of criticism, everyone calling me a horrible Puritan who was holding back progress)?

Please. I'm all for people loving whoever they want--within reason--but when you start to act as if something like this is the real thing, you're embarrassing yourself.

Have your late-life crisis in private!

Make any arrangement you want, but don't invite VIP names to celebrate it.

And I was right.

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I just got this account from a source who was at Celeste Holm's sad sendoff, which turned even sadder thanks to lingering hostilities that filled with proceedings:

"Celeste Holm's memorial was so gossipy!

"One of her sons, Ted, gave a speech saying Celeste made some bad decisions in her life without thinking about the consequences--like leaving Fox and also the men she married!"

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Late, great Richard Burton's diary is coming out, and it's filled with lots of admiration for Liz and a whole bunch of scorn for a lot of other people.

About Lucille Ball:

"She is a monster of staggering charmlessness and monumental lack of humour...

"She is a tired old woman...

"Nineteen solid years of double takes and pratfalls and desperate upstaging and cutting out other people's laughs if she can..."

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Let's not beat around the potted plant:

*Which star's nail biting obsession has gotten so bad that she bleeds all over her outfits and they need to constantly change her into a resonable facsimile of the dress she just stained?

It's enough to make you worry!

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When bruised, belligerent Randy Travis was arrested after a car accident, the locals went into overdrive.

A couple of them ran to the jail, one to offer the faded country singer his cash bail money and a ride home, and the other to offer legal services and a Texas Longhorns hat to shield Randy's fucked up face from the photographers.

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And furthermore:

Which female comic screams so loudly during sex that the windows have to be closed?

Which designer runs whenever she spots her surgeon, so no one will know she gets work done?

(Somehow they manage to figure it out anyway!)

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It's been a while since I rammed some tidbits of gossip down your throats and then made foie gras out of it.

So the time is nigh!

Click here for my new column, in which I dish on everyone from Ben Affleck to Sandra Bernhard -- and yes, those are two different people.

Plus Selena Gomez, Mickey Rourke, Joey Stefano, Divine, an eight-year-old starlet, and a drunken pornographer who made a giant scene.

It's a wild party -- and you're invited plus entourage.

Last year, it was all that righteous fury about the Ground Zero Mosque and how it would surely end modern civilization as we know it.

This year, it can't possibly be Weinergate because that already happened and all the wieners have been grilled.

So what will it be?

The Awl asked various New Yorkers for their guesses, and naturally my answer was hands-down (the throat) the best.

It's worth a scroll. It'll be the scandal of the summer if you don't do so.

It's that time, kids.

The time for you to click here and slobberingly absorb such culturally elevating queries as, "Which designer who goes to Rio upsets some of the sauna-going locals because, as one of them told me, 'He makes the price of the rent boys go up from $20 to over $100'?"

And that's just the first item!

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