Evidently somebody cares about these stupid lists. Transformers star Megan Fox didn’t make the cut for Maxim’s somewhat random list of the Hot 100, but FHM put her at #1 on the lad mag’s list of the 100 Sexiest Women in the World 2008. Most young actors with exactly one hit movie to their credit would be happy to get that sort of recognition, but not Megan. According to Mike Walker, she tends to resent it when people comment on her resemblance to another star with brunette hair, sexy, pouty lips, and a whole bunch of crappy tattoos:

Look, are you aware of who ‘FHM’ magazine voted the Sexiest Woman Alive? ME! Not Angelina Jolie…it was ME! God, Jolie was lucky to make Number Nine!…. I’m only 21 and she’s like…ancient! I’m much hotter than her.

Poor Megan. Few women can understand the cruel burden you bear, constantly being likened to a hideous old crone like Angelina Jolie. But, on the bright side, at least you’re not involved with an ogre like Brad Pitt. Hey, just keep it up with classy outbursts like this one and you never will be.

Today Maxim released its Hot 100 List of the world’s most beautiful women for 2008. Normally, I’d pay about as much attention to this as to anything else Maxim has to say, but this year I was pretty excited to see that Lindsay Lohan made the list at #9, while Britney Spears clocked in at #19. My HTML skills are rather poor, so “pretty excited” is my substitute for putting that line in 24-point bold font, followed by “WTF!!!1!” repeated four times in four different colors. Of course, it’s possible this is actually 2003, in which case I stand corrected and promise to calm down.

Among its many other virtues, Maxim uses the most tedious click-through format imaginable for its lists, just to maximize (heh!) hits, and nobody’s going to bother with that. So here are the top ten on the list, along with a few other names that will put the placement of La Lohan and Britney in perspective. We’ll tuck them below the jump, just to let the edge-of-your-seat, who-gives-a-rat’s-ass excitement build:

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Some of you will remember that my gay boyfriend used to be obsessed with Jodie Marsh and her fabulous life as well as her further adventures. Now that he’s gone all literary and shit, it’s up to me to pick up the sluttish slack around here.

As you’ll notice above, a rather lovely young woman’s picture sits next to that of an apparent tranny, but, of course, these are both pictures of Jodie Marsh. Obviously, she looks better au natural, but it’s all about getting noticed, for why else would one hoist their own jubblies to the moon?

It’s always mildly amusing that celebrities actually look like real people. However, Miss Marsh will always retain her happy, violent sex life and, more importantly, retain her Chavastic Iconoclastic superpowers.

P.S. We still think that Jodie Harsh is way cooler.

A few days ago we posted on surgical G-spot augmentation. No, it doesn’t make your G-spot all perky and wrinkle-free, but it does make the elusive Hot Zone more prominent and (allegedly) more easily aroused. Well, here to discuss the procedure is comedian Margaret Cho, famous for her willingness to discuss anything, humor or lack thereof be damned:

…[T]he G-Shot is an injection of collagen into your G-Spot that is supposed to enhance any kind of stimulation there. It is for women who have limited sensation in their vagina, which is me. My puss is more clitoral than vaginal. I am more into the outside than the inside. I am more about display than content. Whenever I go to a party, I tend to hang out on the steps rather than in the house and I never go into the backyard.

Feel free not to click on the link unless you really want to get a guided tour of Ms. Cho’s reproductive tract. (Of course, if that’s what you’re looking for, then today is your lucky day.) Just to end the suspense–which is no doubt killing you–the procedure was not a success, and might have put an end to the party in Margaret’s pants for the next few months. However, the entire procedure and its aftermath will be the subject of an episode of The Cho Show, Margaret’s new reality series coming to VH1 sometime this summer. You have been warned.

Clearly, it is beyond my ruffian capacity to comprehend why anyone would, willingly and for cosmetic purposes, inject a bacterium — clostridium botulinum, which causes food poisoning that results in muscle paralysis — into their face. Obviously, my lowbrow self just doesn’t get it, because sales of Botox (Botulinum neurotoxin type A) raked in $1.21 billion last year. For that kind of money, it’s easy to downplay results of FDA testing:

Botulism neurotoxin can disrupt nerve cells’ ability to communicate and may change spinal cord circuitry.

Scientists injected botulism toxin into one side of the hippocampus in each rodent brain, and into their superior colliculus, a visual center. From one side of the hippocampus, the toxin migrated to the opposite. From the visual center, the drug went to the animals’ eyes.

Of course, the talking heads for Botox are quick to point out that humans (at least, most of us) are not rodents. Further, Mathew Avram, who runs a Bostonian Dermatology, Laser, and Cosmetic Center insists, “But this treatment has been used on millions of people for years, and we’re not seeing major central nervous system uses with it.” Try and tell me this guy doesn’t have any vested interest in Botox sales. Further, if no neurological abilities are hindered by Botox, I encourage you to try and convince me that, somehow, Nicole Kidman’s acting ability didn’t all but disappear at some point between her roles in The Others (2001) and The Invasion (2007).

Hey, a mouse may be just a mouse, but Algernon will bite you. Natch.

Thanks to Inspector Flea, who also wants to know, What the Hell Happened to Your Face?

Previously: No Country For Botox? Oh, Screw That.

I’ve always had a certain fondness for Lara Flynn Boyle, partly because she played a series of dark, quirky characters, and partly because she has so many of the qualities I look for in a woman—i.e., she’s rail-slender, batshit insane, and has lousy taste in men. But the Lara Flynn Boyle of my fantasies seems to have been replaced by something much lumpier and considerably less attractive. First, there were questions about her recent guest appearance on Law & Order, when more than a few viewers thought she was virtually unrecognizable. Then on Sunday she showed up at Mr. Chow’s in Beverly Hills, looking like someone had worked her over with a sack of doorknobs moments before she walked through the door. That, or she’s getting collagen injections from Dr. Nick Riviera.

According to that Daily Mail link, several years ago Lara said, “On a vanity level, I am not looking forward to ageing at all—I think I look pretty good now.” Not many of us look forward to getting old, but it’s more or less inevitable and there are various different ways of coming to terms with it. Right now, Lara’s not using one of the good ways.

It’s like Back to the Future, only with the past: according to various UK style mavens, the next big thing in style and general cultural stance is a bunch of stuff that felt horribly embarrassing twenty years ago. Apparently the Eighties are going into reruns.

It starts with the hair, of course. (Over-emphasized hair was the foundation of any Eighties look, with the padded jackets, skinny ties, and leg warmers coming as a sort of afterthought.) The UK chain Superdrug reports that sales of home perm kits are up 50 percent over the same quarter last year. Even more impressive are sales of electric blue eyeshadow, vital for the kind of whorish face-painting favored by the likes of Pat Benetar and the line-up of Poison (see picture). Superdrug sold five times more of the garish stuff last month than they did in February 2007. That, my friends, is a trend.

It’s probably only a matter of time before the other cultural trappings of the decade start rearing their heavily moussed heads. However, Superdrug spokesman Peter Newbould spotted the flaw in this whole revival: “Scarily, the people buying into the 1980s now were probably born in the 1980s.” Twenty-year-olds seem likely to adopt the outfits, but not the cultural stance. In other words, lots of Miami Vice linen jackets with the sleeves pushed up, but not so much Joy Division or Echo and the Bunnymen. Although a revival tour for Huey Lewis and the News looks like a distinct possibility.

Well, it was fun while it lasted. Victoria’s Secret CEO Sharen Turney has decided that the company’s lingerie has become too damn sexy and is calling on designers to pull it back a notch:

“I feel so strongly about us getting back to our heritage and really thinking in terms of ultra feminine and not just the word sexy and becoming much more relevant to our customer,” Turney said Thursday, before inhaling deeply to highlight the plunging cleavage of her black silk bustier with seductive mesh inserts.

That quote might not be entirely accurate. I’m quoting from memory and struggling with some vivid mental images.

In fact, Ms. Turney has good reason to feel so strongly. Limited Brands, the parent company for Victoria’s Secret, saw last quarter’s sales drop 12 percent below the figures for the same quarter in 2006, and holiday sales last Christmas were down 8 percent from the previous year. Excessive sexiness, however, seems like a misdiagnosis of the problem. Victoria’s Secret has been moving in a Pussycat Dolls direction for several years now, and I would venture to guess that many women don’t favor that particular image of their sexy selves. Actually, the word Ms. Turney is groping for isn’t “sexy,” it’s “tacky.” Victoria’s Secret does well selling items that make women feel sexy and drive their partners wild in the bedroom, not so well selling the castoffs from Britney’s 2004 Onyx Hotel Tour. Of course, “What Is Sexy?” is a question with different answers for different people. Your mileage may vary.