ou can't get enough of Jessica Simpson. USA Today says so. The pop singer and reality-show star has become a "guilty national pleasure." We just want more and more of the sexy 23-year-old. She's like crack cocaine that says stupid stuff.

Social critics fault the media, but that's just because social critics lack fulfilling sex lives and never learned to swim because they were scared to change in front of classmates. Nonetheless, the entertainment world remains agog over the petite beauty who stars in MTV's "Newlyweds" alongside her hunky husband, Watts Hizname.

Simpson's zany on-screen antics include her assertion that buffalo wings are made from buffalo and her hysteria over her Hostess Snowballs melting.

We'll refrain from describing her dissertation on kumquats.

Her most celebrated moment came when she asserted Chicken of the Sea tuna actually came from wet chickens.

However, the succulent starlet quickly clarified her position at an emergency press conference: "I hate fish so much, but I like tuna, so therein lies the bewildering paradox." Then she dumped a bucket of confetti over her head. "MWAAH," she added.

All of America soon started tuning in. That includes you. If you can't recall tuning in, just smile politely and nod. Don't piss off "Access Hollywood," tough guy. When it comes to shoving things down your throat, the show-biz machine does it with brutal, unrelenting force and you, sir, are no porn star.

If you are-enjoy. Hope that works out for you.

US Weekly recently issued subpoenas to Americans who refused to peruse their recent "celeb-spotlight" on Simpson's favorite soft-drink commercials. Thus begins the process of weeding out.

Even more lucrative could be the scenes MTV couldn't broadcast yet might soon hit the video stores. Industry insiders hinted at censored outtakes in which Simpson phones Information for an explanation of "why they call it a blow job."

"Well, there was a time when I sneezed right in the middle of one," she reportedly reflected.

The next season promises even more trips down idiot lane. An MTV staffer told RED of recent footage in which Simpson shows up at a high school "safe sex" rally wearing only a helmet and knee-pads.

"Those headboards can hurt," she giggled while tapping her protected cranium.

Her unenlightened discourse may be due to her girlish naiveté and her dedication to being virtuous, innocent and-during her late teens-a fairy princess with butterscotch breath and banjo-playing bunny friends.

She maintains that the inviting orifice of her gyrating, pop-princess pelvis remained untouched until her wedding night. Unlike Britney Spears, she stayed true to her pledge to young female fans when it came to chastity. Now Rolling Stone magazine glosses her "Housewife of the Year" while Spears descends into a raunchy mire of public urination, gratuitous spit-swapping with middle-aged media whores and the performance of solo sex acts in the back room of a karaoke bar as Japanese businessmen toss money onto a dining table that doubles as a demeaning showcase for self-defeat and cognac addiction.

Simpson might finally break from her status as an also-ran in a pop scene full of lip-synching, midriff-baring pop "divas." Yes, I'm looking at you, Rod Stewart.

Now we hear her name mentioned in a more esteemed company of bimbos. Simpson joins a long list of iconic, dumb blondes: Marilyn Monroe, Suzanne Somers of "Three's Company" fame and former Vice President Dan Quayle all captivated the public with their shapely cabooses and gushing sexuality. Brains and batteries come separately-but who cares?

Now Simpson entertains lucrative tuna contracts, starring roles in TV sitcoms and just signed a book deal about her personal tragedy involving aluminum foil, a microwave and a bottle of frozen Mike's Hard Lemonade. (That was the day she truly became a woman.)

Sure, she didn't need a fancy college degree and the only dues she paid were library ones. In Jessica Simpson, we have an inspiration for anyone who survived serious brain trauma and all overbearing mothers who want to mold their 11-year-old daughters into vacuous, automatons of synthetic femininity. It's all about the Benjamins.

By the way, what the hell has happened to Rolling Stone?
craig@red-mag.com