Special Guest Host: Garth Brooks

Howdy folks, this is Garth Brooks! Since the body of Garth Brooks is currently bein' inhabited by his new personality, Chris Gaines -- my new album "Garth Brooks In The Life Of Chris Gaines" comes out today, kids, so go out and buy it! -- Gregoire has kindly allowed my other disembodied personality to guest star in his column this week. I'm not much of a gossip like Mr. Gregoire is, but it sure is nice to be doin' something different than sellin' millions of records. Until this latest album -- which has proven than I'm a schizophrenic with multiple personalities and Streisandic tendencies -- I reckon I haven't done much that would be written up in a gossip column. Sure, my sister is a lesbian, but we grew up in a country and western family, so you gotta expect that. I don't saddle up to bein' controversial. I say you take life one day at a time, sit by your cement pond and let your servants get you beers, and let the other guys get riled up by the critics!

Wet Gill

I'd first like to respond to some allegations made by a certain Vince Gill at the Country Music Awards last week. Gill, who sure has won a lotta awards for somebody who doesn't sell that many albums, made a statement durin' the ceremony, proclaimin' that we country artists should remember to stick to the "roots of country music." Everybody in the audience kinda ooh'ed and ah'ed and kicked their boots up at this because it was obviously a statement aimed at me and my friend Shania Twain, who's been selling almost as many records as me by lookin' like a Spice Girl and flashin' what God gave her. Well, my statement to Mr. Gill is this: you're a fat, ugly has-been. Just kiddin', Vince! Actually, I think you should just lighten up. I'm definitely remainin' true to my country roots; that's why I have a different personality doin' the rock stuff. As for Shania, how can you hold a fine-lookin' woman like her to any kind of music that really doesn't hanker to leopard-print coats, feather boas, and platform shoes? Just 'cause a woman's loose ain't no reason she can't sing country music! I think Mr. Gill should have aimed his slings at the CMA Hall Of Fame recipient Dolly Parton, who's so hard up for money to buy make-up and wigs that she's sellin' techno-dance mix versions of her old music. Shameless! And what about Alabama, that formerly top-notch singin' group that now has to sing with 'N Sync just to sell any records. If I need to call my neighbor's kids to boost my popularity, it's time to hang up my spurs! And we should all be criticizin' The Judds for lettin' Ashley run around Hollywood wearin' indecent dresses and makin' Satanic movies about serial killers and spouse murderers. I know Ashley's not a member of The Judds directly, but a mother's gotta be accountable for her daughter's actions, and I don't care if Naomi's been sick recently, she needs to reel in that nasty girl before she embarrasses us all!

Rogers Roasted

I should also take this time to comment on some things a certain washed-up singer by the name of Kenny Rogers has been sayin' about me. Rogers, who paired with the off-her-rocker Parton on several decidedly un-"root"-like country tunes in the 1980s, was commenting on my new albums and was quoted as saying, "Either Brooks is going to be the biggest thing that's ever happened in the music business, or I think he's burned a lot of bridges that are going to hurt him in the long run at country radio." Mr. Rogers, who can't even get a job at his own restaurants, should be reminded that I am already the biggest thing that ever happened in the music business, and if I burn a few bridges, I have enough money to build new ones.

Some readers may wonder how I achieved my new look for the album. It wasn't easy! I'm not a what-they-call a "hip" guy. I don't have any edgy records -- you know, Matchbox 20, Third Eye Blind -- and I don't hang with Leonardo DiCaprio or anything. I'm just a country boy, a country boy who's almost a billionaire. So I hired some "hip" consultants who told me I had to lose the black hat and comb my hair in my face. I also had to hire a personal trainer, and, though it was hard work, I lost 50 pounds. No, folks, I'm not anorexic! I should send my personal trainer over to Wynonna Judd's house, shouldn't I?

Campbell's Stew

I may be a little square sometimes, but I hear a few things at the truck stops. I'm not as separated from the glitter of fame as you might think! For instance, I know that that pretty little black model Naomi Campbell's got herself a new boyfriend. Until recently, she was seen drapin' her skinny arm around that of Italian industrialist Flavio Briatore, but she's moved on like a heifer in heat! She was seen runnin' around the New York fashion shows with a British guy named Damian Aspinall, who's the son of that guy who owns Aspinall's Casino in London. The two were officially seen together at a party in London at Ian Schrager's new hotel there, swingin' and line dancin' with Kate Moss, Jade Jagger and Helena Christensen. And I heard all of that at the corndog stand at the local rodeo!

Carmen-izin'

You know that Leo's got almost as much money as I do, but you'd think he could butch himself up a bit, don't ya think? Well, he's finally taken a step in that direction and gone out on a group date with Carmen Electra, the curvaceous ex-wife of Dennis Rodman. Ever since the two divorced -- and we entertainers were embarrassed by that sham of a marriage in the first place -- Leo had wanted to meet the sexy young "actress," so he arranged a dinner date in Los Angeles last week. I don't think they became "friends in low places," if you catch my honkytonk, because Electra is still linked with that weird Fred Durst from Limp Biskit. Personally, I think Mr. Durst should learn how to sing first before chasin' girls around, but that's just me. Anyway, he'd kick little Leo's be-hind back under his mother's apron, so I think Leo's playin' it safe.

Well, I need to ske-daddle back to my countrified mansion before Chris Gaines and the body of Garth Brooks realize I'm gone. I sure am grateful to Gregoire for lettin' me do a little role-playin' and livin' the glamorous life. Next week he'll be back in all his curious and funny little ways. And remember, run out and buy my new record at your local K-Mart, Wal-Mart or any other place where the employees sport blue smocks! I'll be seein' you ....

Until Reba starts referrin' to herself with a last name again,

Gregoire

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