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These are the people Americans love to emulate. We’re in trouble. In Hollywood, where spoiled celebs are as common as Lindsay Lohan, and drive-by marriages are the Madonna-inspired norm, the recently wed Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel have succeeded in topping their brethren in fame. America’s Sweethearts have won a new accolade.
They are the world’s Most Loathsome Couple. A pretty pair without a shred of intellect or decency. And enough money and unearned influence to do whatever they please, no matter whom they mutilate on the road to a quickie divorce.
Normally, I wouldn’t give such creatures the time of day. But it’s impossible to escape “The Social Network’’ actor and his “Valentine’s Day’’ wife’s monstrously gaudy $6.5 million Italian wedding. Not only did Jessica wear a Pepto Bismol pink gown (a cry for help, or indigestion?), the couple sold photos of the sacred nuptials to People magazine for $300,000 and snubbed old pals in favor of fabulous, new wedding moochers.
And, in an act that sets a new low for the exploitation of the less fortunate, a friend of Timberlake’s produced a mock documentary starring glassy-eyed homeless men and transgender individuals, apparently high, mentally ill or both. It was titled “Greetings from Your Hollywood Friends Who Just Couldn’t Make It.”
“Jessica and Jestin — Justin — I haven’t seen y’all in a long time,’’ rambled a toothless man. “My gift is in the mail.” A transgender woman says, “Good luck. And watch your man! Heh, heh, heh!”
One LA homeless guy, Eddie, said a “trick was played on me” as Timberlake’s buddy, Justin Huchel, offered him $40 to appear in a video celebrating a couple he’d never heard of. “That makes me feel really bad,” he told TMZ.com
I’m told by someone who knows someone who attended the Oct. 19 wedding, which was harder to slip into than the bride’s jeans, that hilarity erupted at the expense of those who could not afford $1,000-plus a night to stay at the luxurious Bongo Egnazia resort in Puglia.
But after two days in which outraged fans turned on Justinica like an ingrown toenail, Justin apologized Friday. Sort of.
“I am deeply sorry to anyone who was offended by the video,” he wrote on his Web site. Timberlake denied that the “distasteful” tape was played at his wedding. (So why say “sorry”?)
Then the plug. “I don’t live my life making fun of people (unless, of course, I’m making fun of myself on SNL [‘Saturday Night Live’]). . .” Proving that he reads this column, Justin took advice I gave last week. He said he was sentencing the video-maker to “at least 100 hours of community service . . . Boom.’’
Street advocates were not appeased. This reminded some of “Bumfights” — in which San Diego’s homeless were paid in booze to battle each other on tape.
Timberlake’s video “is designed to humiliate them,” said Frank Tamborello, director of Hunger Action LA. He said that even if Justin and Jessica weren’t in on the joke, “people know or have been told they’re going to be fine with it.” Tamborello had a message for Timberlake:
“You’re not going to laugh so hard when you’re on the street.”
Hollywood publicist and author Michael Levine said, “We’re living in a sick time, and sick behavior has become the norm.” He suggested Timberlake donate his wedding loot to charity. Right.
Timberlake isn’t keen on doing anything for nothing. Shriners Hospital for Children in Vegas, whose golf tournament he had hosted, ended the relationship because he refused to help sick kids.
“We tried everything we could to get him more involved with our kids and the hospitals,” Chairman Raoul Frevel told the Las Vegas Review-Journal. “But it seemed that when the TV cameras weren’t on, he disappeared.”
Timberlake’s too big for that. He angered members of his former boy band, N’Sync, by scrubbing them from the wedding list, reportedly because he feared a band reunion would “overshadow” his me-first nuptials. He made room for new pals Jimmy Fallon and Andy Samberg.
Take this as a cautionary tale.
Don’t diss the poor and the average on the way up. There’s no telling when you’ll be down there with them.
A Giant blunder in trial’s result
Horny retired Giants Hall of Fame linebacker Lawrence Taylor doesn’t know the meaning of shame. He gets to keep his money, though.
The married, 6-foot-3 1/2-inch, 260-pound brute known as LT was sued in Manhattan federal court last week by 110-pound former child prostitute Cristina Fierro. She testified that her pimp beat her until she agreed to have sex with Taylor in a sleazy Rockland County hotel in 2010.
Taylor admitted he paid $300 to get his rocks off, but insisted the act was consensual. A jury agreed.
No telling what LT’s wife, Lynette, a courtroom no-show, thinks of her massive hubby’s hobby of chasing little girls. Poor Cristina. I wish this ended differently.
A ‘swift’ kick for kennedy
They said it wouldn’t last. Looks like it didn’t.
Songbird Taylor Swift, a junior cougar of 22, has split from boy toy Conor Kennedy, 18, after a summer romance on Cape Cod, Us Weekly reported. But the Kennedy clan insists the couple is apart only because Taylor’s promoting an album. And Conor’s back in high school.
Conor is the son of Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and the late Mary Richardson Kennedy — and scion of a family of notoriously bad drivers. It probably didn’t help the relationship that Conor’s grandma, Ethel, a Swift groupie, welcomed Taylor into the family with open arms.
Find someone at least old enough to drink, Taylor. A man.
No solace to be found
Manhattan mom Marina Krim returned to her Upper West Side apartment with her 3-year-old daughter, and walked into a nightmare from which she can’t wake up. Her two other babies, Leo, 2, and Lucia, 6, were in a bathtub stabbed to death by their trusted nanny Yoselyn Ortega, 50, cops said. Dad Kevin was returning from a business trip as the twisted sitter slashed her own throat, but survived.
The Krims vetted Ortega so carefully, they even traveled to the Dominican Republic to meet her kin.
So, the question lingers: Why?
I wish peace for survivors of the Manhattan massacre. I fear there will never again be comfort and laughter.
B’klyn doesn’t puck around
Those still unconvinced that Brooklyn is the center of the known universe might want to change their tune. Professional hockey is coming to Barclays Center, the new arena I feared would never be built.
The New York Islanders are joining the NBA’s Nets, moving from unappreciative Long Island to a jazzed-up Barclays in 2015. It’s a good day for Brooklyn. And a great score for New York City. Go, Isles!