Charles Sykes
Miley Cyrus attends The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute benefit celebrating “PUNK: Chaos to Couture” on Monday May 6, 2013 in New York. (Photo by Charles Sykes/Invision/AP)

Maxim magazine touts itself as “the ultimate guys guide” and the “source of hot girls.”

They just revealed their annual Hot 100 list for 2013, with Miley Cyrus as No. 1.

Calm down.

(Jennifer Love Hewitt is No. 6 and Manti Te’o’s Fake Girlfriend is No. 69. Telltale signs of our backup toilet paper, gloss-embossed.)

I think the editors got all housed one night, drew stick figures of the rich and famous and put them in a hat. When they pulled out the one that resembled Danny Bonaduce, they slurred, “Miley Cccyrusss it issss. Where’sss my cigarettesss.”


Advice from Snooki

Since Prince Harry actually has a purpose in life — unlike his brother William, who parades around a royal spouse in designer Preg-O-Petticoats — he toured the U.S. as part of a goodwill trip.

His highness hit up Superstorm Sandy wreckage in New Jersey, so obviously Snooki had some advice for the royal, if he planned on partying on the shore. (Run, Har-Bear. It’s an ultraviolet mess out there. There’s like 17 Tan Moms behind you.)

Not that the ginger-curled, Welsh melanin mug sticks out on the shore at all, but Hollywood Headaches wanted to offer her own tips:

Packs some heat (Ed Hardy pocket knife), along with brass knuckles (glitter-adorned), loud muscle tees (with panthers), Axe cologne and George Michaels’ jeans (stone-washed). Helmet those curls with putty and wear SPF 813. Mug to the camera with both pointer fingers. You’re the guido, man.

Be sure to step back and smell the armpit of America. And keep an eye out for used needles on the shoreline, under-the-boardwalk BJs and orphan press-on nails in your funnel cake.


Glory days

Remember when O.J. Simpson (allegedly) broke into that dude’s Vegas hotel room and (allegedly) stole a bunch of his football memorabilia?

Ah, glory days. Juice.

They passed you by in 1994 when the cops were tailing your Ford Bronco down that Southern California freeway. I saw your glory days hop out the back window and slither into a Hollywood sewer where broken actresses-turned-waitresses go to cry.

(They don’t want you back. Stop chasing them.)

Anyway, Simpson testified Wednesday that he wants a new trial regarding his conviction in 2008 of armed robbery.

The more important observation: Did he or did he not eat Cliff Huxtable? I didn’t spot a loud cardigan sweater anywhere, but if it may be bar hopping with that famous black glove.

(Shrug the disrespect, Sir Bill Cosby. It’s just — that jailbird is old.)

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