Looks like the only one hopping into the sack with House Bunny Anna Faris will be "actor" Chris Pratt, best known as the not-incredibly revolutionary Che on The O.C. Or, to a devoted legion of fans, as part of the "Miscellaneous Crew" on the 1995 Alfred Molina/Helen Slater box-office breaker The Steal.
And as it turns out, the Scary Movie starlet, considered by many to possess the slapstick potential of Lucille Ball (and by some, we mean the NCDSUV interns), has been engaged to the lucky schmuck since late last year. Which means it wasn't really that long-harbored a secret, given that it's not even February.
But regardless, good luck young lovers. And Mr. Pratt, please do tell your wife-to-be that those choppy blond bangs she was sporting on SNL are a major no-no, no matter how much her adorableness compensates for occasional faux paus.
Everyone's favorite Meth-od woman, Fergie, may be considering the Angelina Jolie-Brad Pitt route and adopt a child with husband Josh Duhamel. Or at least according to the venerable sources at National Enquirer, which are about as reliable as Stephen Glass's.
And while this would run in curious contrast to the singer's recent announcement of a supposed couple o' kittens in the oven, it's a vaguely more enticing rumor to become wrapped up in. Why, you ask? Because it would certainly support many-a-person's notion that, in light of Duhamel's clean-shaven visage, Fergie only exists to be his faithful beard.
If you know what I'm sayin'. Eh? Eh? See how silly and suggestive we're being about it so that Josh can't sue us for libel?
What exactly does a "tycoon" really represent in 21st century society anyway? It's like calling someone a robber baron or a haberdasher. Especially if they're a "yacht tycoon," like Spice Girls ginger snap Geri Halliwell's new fiance, Fabrizio Politi (not to be confused with one-time Drew Barrymore beau, Fabrizio Moretti of The Strokes). I kind of imagine the guy to be like a combination of Scrooge McDuck and a sea-faring pirate.
Anyway, despite only dating for a couple of weeks, the pair has announced their nuptials-to-be. Through Halliwell's management company. Because their decision has nothing at all to do with the desire for Geri to share some of the Spice-y spotlight continuously hogged by Victoria Beckham and her husband David. And everything to do with the kind of shotgun love only two near-40-year-old mature adults can understand. Yeah, that's the ticket.
They say Levi Johnston, soon-to-be-husband of Bristol Palin, son of recent drug-ring arrestee Sherry Johnston and future-son-in law of Alaskan Governor/never-would-have-been-VP candidate Sarah Palin, is an apprentice electrician. Sounds more to me like the only apprenticeship he'll never graduate from is being indentured in the Palin family for all the rest of his eternally damned days.
As you likely heard through the apple-blossom-vine, the Palin/Johnston child-bearing tandem gave birth this past Sunday to Tripp Easton Mitchell Johnston. Which means their son has two options: Become a stately senator who spawns generations of same-named kin, or a racecar driver. But the only one behind the wheel of poor Levi's life is his socially Satanic (er, I mean conservative) surrogate mom, Sarah, especially now that Levi's matriarch somehow trumps her in hypocritical irresponsibility.
In a s statement, Sarah and her husband Todd referred to Levi rather coldly as "the young man," and remarked that he and Bristol are "going to realize very quickly the difficulties of raising a child."
Which is code for, "You fucked up and impregnated our underage daughter with your demon dick, and because of our puritanical value system and misguided run for major governmental candidacy, you're stuck owning up to that decision by raising this kid when you're barely old enough to have voted for me and John McCain, and then marrying Bristol and sacrificing all your individual hopes and dreams."
Sucks to be you kid. Well, both Levi and Tripp that is.
While the rest of you lazy schlubs were spending the holiday week glugging down eggnog and making sexy eyes at that random third cousin whose bloodline connection feels tenuous at best, NCDSUV was still soaking in the pop culture rays.
Humorously enough, however, there was a conspicuous paucity of tabloid-friendly stories breaking over the last several days. This could lean one to hypothetsize that much of the entertainment world's daily headlines harbor hazy significance at best and are generated so the blogosphere merely has an excuse to catalyze conversation and ramp up page views.
But, of course, we're not that cynical. We are, however, newly educated on everything from Michael Jackson's supposedly deteriorating lung to Amy Winehouse's most certainly replenished bosom. Here are the top five things we learned for this final full week of 2008, in a very much specific order. 5. Despite our very keen eye for newly portly former sex symbols, Kathleen Turner's massive tumble into terrifyingly negative sex appeal slipped through a canyon-sized crack. She might portray a dog trainer in Marley & Me, but it appears her personal workout coach really screwed the pooch.
4. Just when we thought we were out.... Actually, it's Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt who are out... (wait for it, wait for it) of their minds! And in and out of matrimony, as they teased us with yet another wedding-related ratings booster on The Hills, only to hold off on an official ceremony as a presumed cocktease for their inevitable spinoff show. Hey, it's not like marriage has been a particularly sanctified concept in recent decades anyway, so these two nutballs may as well shit all over it to advance their careers.
Thanks to the Huffington Post, who opted to go slightly beyond our morally and spiritually defeated kvetching and actually investigate the details of Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt's supposed eloping/definitive Us Weekly raping, the likelihood of their nuptials being a legally unrecognizable farce has crystallized.
The Us photo spread has the standard allotment of wedding-gown pics and what have you, in addition to their vows (don't tell me the performed reading of those suckers wouldn't make for a satirical off-Broadway hit), but apparently there's no proof that they got a marriage license or took part in a civil ceremony, not to mention California doesn't recognize marriages outside of the U.S. And certainly not in their hot, dusty neighbor to the south, Mexico.
Of course, the fact that they could grab national headlines for staging a fake marriage is somehow more maddening than if they had tied the knot for real and launched a subsequent self-indulgent press campaign. So you win again, Speidi, but I assure you, vengeance of some kind will rear its Hills-crashing head, no matter how long it takes me, or how far I must travel! (Well, as long as it doesn't involve leaving my couch, but lots of other magical things have happened here.)
What, you thought I wasn't going to remark on the "eloped" nuptials between hideous Hills tandem Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt? Does a bear not shit in the woods after it has several extra servings of beef stroganoff? Maybe not, but I bet Spencer took a hot honeymoon dump on his now-wife's chest as part of their voodoo ritual to ensure world domination and waves of resentment amongst recession-impacted Americans.
But fuck it. I think I'd trade in my mundane middle-class existence for at least a day in order to leap from one nest of privilege to the next, ultimately landing in an overwhelmingly underserved position of fame, riches and multi-million-dollar magazine covers.
And ultimately, this gets at the genesis of this Sucks feature in the first place. It's about uprooting the everyman's simmering resentment over celebrity superiority and calling famous folk out on receiving their charmed exsitence and adulation without merit.
OK, here's a new contest for all you loyal NCDSUV passengers: Feel free to guestimate how long Kelly Osbourne's engagement/marriage to 18-year-old lip-piercing-lover Luke Worrall will last and e-mail them to nudecelebritydeathsuv@gmail.com (or leave them on the comments board below). Whoever winds up closest to when their would-be nuptials inevitably get called off will be awarded with the opportunity to write a guest post about Ozzy's perpetually misguided kin. (Come to think of it, this could dovetail quite nicely with a Death Pool revolving around her scraggly, Satanic pop.)
You'll have to pardon my skepticism, and perhaps I'm operating under a bit of naivete about how certain private announcements are made public these days (People magazine covers, right?), but doesn't the long-term sustenance of a union seem a bit doomed when the pair's adolescent half declares it official via Facebook?
By now, you may have seen the above clip of William Shatner going on a bizarrely candid, if pointed, tangent regarding his lack of invitation to George Takei's wedding. Apparently, Takei still resents his former Star Trek co-star for his ego during that period (a sense of self-centeredness surely brought back down from the Starship Enterprise to Earth after decades of B-level TV roles and self-parodic ad appearances), hence the snub.
Whatever the case, Shatner rips him a pretty good new one. Or at least calmly explains why the guy's a total nutjob who uncourageously waltzed out of the closet during his twilight years. Now, we can sympathize with both sides. Takei spent years as the token Asian sidekick, repressed in his personal life, to Shatner's seductive starring turn as Captain Kirk. And Shatner, meanwhile, has been more than amiable about taking the piss out of himself in recent years, and maybe felt bygones should be bygones. Or bi-gones, as the case may be.
But this is where NCDSUV comes in to help. We cracked our brains together and beamed up five ideas about how these two can settle their differences, before it's too late and they join Scotty in that space craft in the sky.
Wow, talk about a whirlwind five days. You know it's a nutty week when David Duchovny and Tea Leoni's inevitable split finally makes the front pages, but not NCDSUV's Top 5 Things We Learned This Week.
But not to worry. All that means is we had plenty of revelations from the likes of other megastar couples, multi-billion-dollar fast-food chains and, of course, our neverendingly illuminating presidential candidates. So enjoy, and hopefully you've learned as much as we have this week. And ideally lessons of greater societal import.
