A few weeks ago, I told y’all that I was the proud owner of a fantasy team based not on the usual football or baseball leagues, but on celebrities. I promised that I would update you with how well I was doing in the Celebrity Fantasy Draft competition, which awards points for the number of magazine covers, inside photos and mentions in People, Us Weekly and In Touch. I told y’all that I would win the thing.

So in the interest of journalistic integrity and public shaming, I should tell you that as the season winds to a close, my team is in seventh place. Out of 10 teams. My much ballyhooed “Team Mamarazzi” frankly sucks.

I blame Adele. I thought I was being crafty to draft Adele since I knew she was going to “hatch” on my watch, so to speak. I forgot that Adele hates people prying into her private life. Thanks for nothing.

Lesson learned. Don’t go with actual talent or sentimental faves. Go with a Kardashian, any Kardashian. Those fame ho’s would kill for a People cover and probably have.

Bitter, party of me. I can’t help feeling foolish. This league has brought out the worst in me. My required “kid pick” was Sasha Obama, who can only help me in these last two weeks if she is photographed snorting lines of cocaine off her daddy’s desk in the Oval Office. I know, I know. From my mouth to God’s ears.

Why couldn’t I have picked that pie-faced little hick, Honey Boo Boo?

Why do bad things happen to good people? Like Amanda Bynes, who’s on my team; despite repeated run-ins with the law, can’t get a decent cover.

I believe that I speak for a grateful nation when I say simply, “Thank God for Britney Spears.” Her sleazy ex-manager’s claim that she abused drugs has made Brit the only bright spot on my wretched roster and the only reason I’m not dead last. Well, also Ashton Kutcher, who courts the paparazzi by pausing to ram his tongue down Mila Kunis’ throat before they step into yet another trendy L.A. eatery.

It’s onward to a new draft season. Duh Hubby, who has drafted successful fantasy baseball teams for 26 years, says in dead seriousness that I have brought “fantasy shame” on our home.

He’ll be eating “fantasy dinner” tonight, I suppose.

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