21 September 2010

She was an American girl, raised on the Notes From The News

Well well, here we are again, back on the entertainment reporting chain gang. I know yesterday was a bit of a slog, but that's kinda what happens when, well, nothing happens. At least, nothing that I cared to report on. I know LiLo fucked her shit up big time, and Paris got probation, but honestly I can't being myself to give a rancid rat's asshole about either one of them. Nor am I especially interested in Elisabeth Moss' apparently Scientology-related divorce. The shit bores me, not least because I'd be a lot more excited if Christina Hendricks was going back on the market. But that's neither here nor there, as there are newsnotes to poison your interwebs with. So, off we go:

Katy Perry. Sesame Street. More inappropriate than you could ever imagine. If you let your children watch this then you are the worst fucking parent in the world. And Elmo, shame on you. AutoTune? Shaaaaaaame on you.

Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master has been put on indefinite hold  because Anderson can't "overcome" something, according to actor Jeremy Renner. If this is anything like what Mark Wahlberg couldn't overcome in Boogie Nights, then I feel really bad for Anderson.

Some time ago, S-F author and blogger John Scalzi held a fan fiction contest to explain, rationalize, or otherwise describe what the fuck is going on in this image. (That's Scalzi as the orcish dude, and yep, site favorite Wil Wheaton in his legendary clown sweater riding the kittypegacorn.) Response was overwhelming, but winners were finally chosen, and the best responses were recently gathered in a downloadable chapbook, which is available through Scalzi's great blog Whatever, a new addition to our blogroll on the right over there. The download is free, but you also have the opportunity to donate to a worthy cause, the Lupus Alliance. I know times are tough, but you might want to pop over there and drop a fiver and have yourself a geeky good time. Because in spite of what House says, sometimes it is Lupus.

Fuck Cancer, dept.: Andy Whitfield will not be returning to his starring role on Spartacus: Blood and Sand next season because he's going to be too busy battling Stage 1 non-Hodgkins lymphoma. Sorry about that folks, but at least we'll still get to see Xena's boobies from time to time. And here's hoping Andy has a speedy recovery very soon.

Turns out that, surprise surprise, David Letterman was in on Joaquin Phoenix's douchetastic little "joke," because of course he was. Letterman is in on all the unfunny jokes.

Because Hollywood can't help but fuck up a good thing when it sees it, Orson Scott Card's script for his Ender's Game adaptation has been turned over to Gavin Hood . . . who directed X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Yeah. Sorry about that Orson. Better luck with the Alvin Maker books.

So, say you're Kanye West -- no, no, wait, before you reach for the arsenic and razor blades, hear me out. So say you're Kanye and you release a single in wwhich you tell Saturday Night Live to not only kiss your whole ass, but also to kiss your asshole. Aside from being sued by Jay-Z for stealing his shit from "99 Problems," what do you think will happen? Well, if you guessed being named musical guest on the night Bryan Cranston hosts the show, you guessed right. Okay, you can stop pretending to be Kanye now, which I'm sure is a relief to you.  If only Kanye were so lucky.

Let me tell you about how my career got flipped turned upside down, dept.: Justin Bieber is now developing a movie script with Will Smith. Apparently what's happened here is thatWill hasn't had any luck finding any talented children in his own family, so now he's trying to outsource.

And finally, this just in: Randy Quaid may well be utterly and irrevocably out of his god damn mind. Either that, or Ronda Quaid has some tall motherfuckin' explaining to do. Either that, or Catherine revved up the microwave again.

. . . well, that's all I got here. Hope the rest of your day goes well, and that you enjoy yourself in whatever you're doing.

. . . even if you're just putting t-shirts on display.

Till next time!

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