31 August 2010

She May be Right, She May Be Fine, She May Get Love But She Won't Get Mine 'Cause I Got The Notes From The News

Good evening, friends and neighbors and others. Been a hot day in the big bad city here, but I'm taking a break from frying eggs on the sidewalk to bring you a great gooey gob of good newsnotes:

BREAKING NEWS, HOLY SHIT, STOP THE FUCKING PRESSES AND PRESS THE FUCKING STOPS: 50 Cent took control of his Twitter account a few days ago, and it is now clear to all why he never had control of his Twitter account in the first place, because dag. This is more wack than a roast pig in the window of a kosher deli.

The Clash of the Titans sequel is getting a new director. Louis Leterrier is going Lehome to his Lefamily and his Lepoodle, and taking his Leplace will be Jonathan Liebesman, director of The Killing Room and The Texas Chansaw Massacre: The Beginning. This is not really a move upward. Hell, I'm not even sure it's a lateral move. I wonder if the Kraken is going to get another agent in the wake of this . . .

Club DJ and notable celebrity trainwreck's lesbian experimetation squeeze Samantha Ronson is apologizing all over Twitter today, after her bulldog Cadillac (really?) killed a neighbor's pooch yesterday. It was not known at press time whether or not Samantha would apologize for being famous only because she had her fingers in Lindsay Lohan's ick. (Oh no! Morpheus, I seem to have accidentally taken the bitch pill!)

Speculation is flying all over Hollywood and Geekywood about potential casting for the Fantastic Four reboot going on over at Fox. Adrien Brody as Mr. Fantastic! Amber Heard as the Invisible Woman! Stephen Moyer as Doctor Doom! Bruce Willis as the voice of the CG-generated Thing! And Jerry Mathers as the Beav -- wait, no, sorry, got carried away there. Anyway, nobody knows if any of this will actually happen, but Fox and Marvel are both intent on actually doing the FF justice this time around, so if the planets align themselves properly and the cosmic rays do what they're supposed to, then maybe they can pull this film out of the Negative Zone. And I think I just came from writing that.

In other filmland rumormongering, Bloody Disgusting is giving far too much credence to a so-called "insider's report" that says not only is Ghostbusters 3 a go, but the entire original cast is coming back, including Bill Murray and Rick Moranis, but there will be a new part written for Peter Venkman's love child with Dana, Oscar Venkman (really?). Oscar will be young and full of piss and vinegar and raring to take over the family business, and if anyone actually buys this I'm gonna stand on my head with my pants around my ankles and fart the "Star-Spangled Banner."

Kanye. Raekwon. Bieber. Yeah, Bieber. That sound you heard was their new collaboration. That other sound you heard was your brain giving the fuck up, liquefying, and dribbling out of your ears with a long scream of "Wwwwwhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!".

Pajiba contributor and my own personal goddess of snark Courtney Enlow did a liveblog of the Emmys Sunday night, and it's fucking hilarious. Go. Read. Now. I'll be here when you get back, just going through your things. Hey, you should rename that "Busty Barely Legal" folder before your boss finds it . . . Mom. 

Guitar Wizard Slash's marriage is going the way of his first band. he's filed for divorce from his wife Perla, citing irreconcilable differences. Sources intimate with the couple say the situation is acrimonious and bitter, and may have been triggered when Perla tried to get Slash to take off that stupid hat and sunglasses just to prove to herself that he actually has eyeballs. 

I couldn't give less of a shit if you paid me but I need to fill space, dept.: Rest easy, all you Guido bachelors. Chronic airhead and honorary Oompa-Loompa Snooki is still on the market. She's turned down her current boyfriend's totally classy magazine cover marriage proposal by taking an equally classy route: Saying no on Twitter. Personally I can't wait for this over-baked Troll doll to take her alcoholism, her daddy issues, and her butterface, and to go the hell back to whatever planet full of squat orange shrieking apes from whence she hails. 

And that's all my poor heart can take tonight, kids. Now is the time on Nighthawk Postcards when we dance:

 Be good, stay awesome, and I'll see you soon. Peace out!

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