And now for some late afternoon idiocy...

Earlier today we wrote about the adorable feline fisting James Blunt's broken pinky, and in the piece described his music as "boring" and "rubbish".

Shortly afterwards, Frances M Benz - a devoted James Blunt fan - piped up in the comments section for the post "OBVIOUSLY, YOU MUST ALSO DISLIKE THE LIKES OF JAMES TAYLOR ect. IF YOU ARE SO BORED WRITE ABOUT YOUR MOM!!! JAMES KEEP UP THE CATS & IGNOE IDIOTS WHO HAVE NO EAR FOR MUSIC!!!!"

Cut to your Editor and Associate Editor chuckling about the comment later in a Gmail chat, basically dwelling on the "KEEP UP THE CATS" bit because it reminded us of the infamous All Your Base Are Belong To Us phenomenon's use of English.

Clem: IF YOU ARE SO BORED WRITE ABOUT YOUR MOM!!! JAMES KEEP UP THE CATS. I am so intrigued as to what "keep up the cats" may mean
Jess: Oh, because I said James Blunt's music sounded like a cat getting fisted while someone plays acoustic guitar. Arf!
Clem: oh. HAHAHAHA - so in essence they are admitting it sounds like that
Jess: HOW ARE YOU GENTLEMEN - KEEP UP THE CATS
Clem: FOR GREAT JUSTICE
Jess: I feel like making James Blunt tshirts now
Clem: KEEP UP THE CATS! with Blunt giving a thumbs up
Jess: WAIT MINUTE FOR ME PLEASE GREAT JUSTICE

And so, for no real reason whatsoever other than the fact we're mildly bored, we present the closest thing to a picture of James Blunt giving a thumbs up besides text saying "KEEP UP THE CATS"

We'll let you know when the t-shirts are ready for purchase.

(Please feel free to make your own James Blunt KEEP UP THE CATS picture and send it in, your Editor has the Photoshop skills of a drunken mentally impaired Colubus monkey...)

· Al Pacino made a guest appearance on The Late Show With David Letterman last night to promote his new film, 88 Minutes (aka Nick Of Time 2: Nicked Again!). Let this clip of Al Pacino putting Dave Letterman and the rest of the viewing audience to sleep with his Ted Striker-esque stories be a lesson to all of you up-and-comers in Hollywood; should you ever get called to sit on the chair next to Dave, Jay, Conan, Jimmy or Craig, the most important thing you can do is to PRACTICE YOUR ANECDOTES. And if you get called to do Carson Daly's show? Don't worry, no one is watching. [CBS, video by Molly McAleer]
· In an unprecedented move in the nearly 100 year history of Hollywood, Marvel and Paramount are banding together to turn the phenomenal trailer for Iron Man into a full-length movie. We can't wait! [The Onion]
· The thing about Scientology that creeps us out the most is the fact that even the ones who get away are crazy. [YouTube]
· If they cast the Yo Quiero Taco Bell dog in Beverly Hills Ninja instead of Chris Farley, you'd have yourself Beverly Hills Chihuahua. Unholy. [/Film]
· Wondering why Short Ends came to you a few hours late tonight? Well, it's because your Uncle Grambo was finishing his taxes. Let this serve as a reminder to all of you West Coasters, there's only three hours left to file your taxes! That is, unless your first name is Wesley and your last name is Snipes. In that case, don't sweat it. [IRS]

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Yesterday, news broke that an ancient sex tape allegedly showing Marilyn Monroe giving a blowjoy to an unidentified male had not only surfaced, but had also been sold to an anonymous New York collector for $1.5 million. The NY Post's Hasani Gittens broke the story after interviewing Keya Morgan, a memorabilia collector who claims to have brokered the sale of the 15 minute reel. However, what the Post failed to mention in their story is that Morgan is well-known within the tight-knit circle of Marilyn Monroe memorabilia collectors for being a sycophantic, press hungry namedropper (check out his likely self-penned IMDB bio) whose main objective is to promote himself and the Monroe documentary that he is working on. Not only has he been known to casually claim that he has dated both Mariah Carey and Renee Zellweger, he has thus far refused to disclose either the names of either the seller or buyer of the tape; additionally, he has not been able to provide evidence that this alleged sale even occurred.

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Look, we've nothing personal against James Blunt, really we don't. As a person, he seems to be quite a lovely chap. We've read loads of interviews with the man where he seems charming and quick-witted and he certainly doesn't take himself seriously, and the fact he is worth gazillions and lives in a mansion on a party island in Spain with his own discotheque is the perfect riposte for those breathlessly banging on about how boring and rubbish his music is.

That said, his music is boring and rubbish, and we honestly can't fathom why a sane person would voluntarily purchase a record which sounds like a cat is being fisted while someone plays acoustic guitar in the background. Whatever. Different strokes, different folks.

But we couldn't help but sigh when we learned of a recent injury James suffered whilst indulging in the thoroughly EXCITING and NOT-BORING act of stage diving!

James Blunt, who will tour New Zealand later this month, has broken his little finger while stage diving.

He said: "I don't know what made me do it. I jumped off stage at the end and was chased by women, and men, in the crowd. I started running, and the next thing I knew I had broken my finger.

"I don't even know how I did it. I can't play the piano but I can still play the guitar with my remaining fingers!"

THANK GOD, NO ONE WILL EVER STOP THE MUSIC.

Funnily enough, Goodbye My Lover makes us want to jump off something too.

Reader Rach emailed us a link to the following picture, saying "Well, at least we know the former Prime Minister now has a lucrative career in modelling."

It's fair to say that we were slightly hesitant about clicking and learning just what John Howard has been doing with his spare time (please, no porn... please, no porn...) but finally we mustered up all the courage we could, tapped the aforementioned link, and discovered this.

Bless him, it's lovely to see him looking so happy after such a disastrous end to his long political career. Also nice to see he's finally ditching the green and gold tracksuit set. Retirement from politics doesn't mean retirement from life - give this modeling malarkey a fair crack. We look forward to seeing you donning Target-brand winter casuals when the next catalogue arrives in Defamer Australia's mailbox.

We're beginning to think it might be worthwhile getting the tech dudes to create some sort of "trouble at mill" generator for Channel Nine stories, since they're coming thick and fast these days.

The latest woe-betide-those-at-the-happy-network tale concerns an "anonymous" novel, Boned (comedy platinum!), the thinly-veiled contents of which could potentially blow the place to smithereens.

You know, with the power of readin' 'n' shit.

Nine publicists refused to comment on the text when contacted today, but insiders say executives have been nervous about its pending publication for some time.

It is due for release in June - and this is how it is being plugged by publishers Michael Joseph:

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We will return you to the usual programming in just a moment, but we thought it pertinent to let you all know that we now have a one-in-450 chance of being wiped out by tsunamis and sun-blocking dust clouds in either 2029 or 2036.

How do we know this? Because some smartarse little German schoolboy, Nico Marquardt, "corrected" NASA's calculations regarding the Apophis asteroid, which was previously thought to have a one-in-45,000 chance of totally ruining humanity's party.

Both NASA and Marquardt agree that if the asteroid does collide with Earth, it will create a ball of iron and iridium 320 metres wide and weighing 200 billion tonnes, which will crash into the Atlantic Ocean.

The shockwaves from that would create huge tsunami waves, destroying both coastlines and inland areas, whilst creating a thick cloud of dust that would darken the skies indefinitely.

The 13-year old made his discovery as part of a regional science competition for which he submitted a project entitled: "Apophis - The Killer Astroid".

Whaddya reckon, is Nico likely to be being hoisted on the shoulders of his schoolmates right now, or being pelted with sandwiches and rotten apples for more accurately predicting that we'll all die in a Michael Bay-esque doomsday scenario?

We were all set to unleash a can of eye-rolling whup-ass when we read this morning that Australian American Idol contestant Andrew Johns (you know, the one they said would win it) had evidently not won the talent quest - but then we got all excited on his behalf because it looks like a duet with Dolly Parton could be in the works!

Defamer Australia are massive Dolly fans, so we feel a mixture of excitement and raging jealousy on behalf of Johns.

A few hours after the jaws of American Idol's 30 million TV viewers dropped to the floor when Johns was asked to leave, his own idol, country singer Dolly Parton, called his mobile phone.

"There was a voice on the phone and it said 'Michael, this is Dolly'," Johns, a guest on US TV talkshow Regis & Kelly recalled.

"She said 'You have a great career ahead of you and I'd like to write with you and maybe do a duet'."

Well, we daresay that ending up with a possible collaboration with Dolly is probably a fuck sight better than whatever fate awaits the "winners" in these dying days of the Idol franchise.

For once we're glad join the Aussie press in making sure we all see an Australian fail!

We always love a good box-office panic story this time of year, with studio execs smiling in your face and shitting in their pants while some exhibition insider somewhere blames the coming collapse on a batch of rotten tentpoles. Thank goodness for Carl DiOrio, whose Hollywood Reporter survey today notes that the spring season is down 19% from 2007 while summer promises even spicier drama to come:

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The Uwe Boll of Oscar bloggers, Tom O'Neil, is at it again over at Gold Derby, where his idle hands on the slowest of slow news days has him making all kinds of trouble for one of the undisputed classics of American silent cinema. "Undisputed," that is, until today, when O'Neil asked and (regrettably) answered the positively unessential question: What was the real Best Picture Oscar winner of 1927-28?

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Oh dear. After weeks spent learning about ancient proverbs and analysing the relationship between women and fashion, the cast of The Hills has gotten their manicured hands dirty. Moving on from worldly life lessons, the girls dove highlights first into Relationships 101. McCain endorsette Heidi raised a good question last night: "How can you love and hate someone so much at the same time?" And her sort-of boyfriend Spencer provided some guidance. As his Adderall eyes flickered and his surfer boy voice reached shrieky heights, he attempted to explain something "everyone on the planet" knows: the difference between "Relationship-acation" and breaking up. But no matter how totally profound Spencer may have appeared, queen bee Lauren drowsily piped in with a brief lesson on boys who are "scum." Enjoy this video, crafted with loving care by Molly McAleer. [MTV]

• WATCH VIDEO

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Cynthia Nixon is living proof that bad things happen to good actresses. Speaking openly for the first time about her 2006 diagnosis with breast cancer on Good Morning America today, the happily outed actress demonstrated exactly how a public figure maintains grace under fire. And even after telling us how one goes about telling their kids they sorta have to undergo an operation, and how to deal with the public's response to her coming out, one of the most intriguing lessons the Sex And The City star shared had to do with which half of a lesbian couple is called "Mom" and which is called "Mommy." Nixon's life lessons, after the jump.

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Even though she's only 28 and has already spawned one mini-me, Kate Hudson has baby fever. In an interview with London's Sunday Times, the smiley actress unloaded some very Cameron Diaz-esque baggage, including the fact that she's oh-so-ready to get knocked up as soon as possible. And apparently, Hudson has figured out the elusive secret to determining whether a potential suitor is a "man" or a "boy." But when it comes to dating, Hudson just needs a pretty pair of lips:

"I need to find that 18-year-old in me again, who was way more adventurous when it came to kissing boys...I would love nothing more than to have a good, honest make out sesh."

How Owen made the cut, and which Brit actor may be competition after the jump.

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Let's play word association for a moment. When you think of Amy Winehouse, what other fun images come to mind? Needles, empty bottles of gin, trash-strewn apartments, maybe? If you're in a particularly imaginative mood, perhaps stashes of white powder hidden in sweaters? Us too. But among the drug paraphernalia and gravity-defying hairdos we normally associate with the troubled songstress, cute chubby-cheeked babies do not spring into our heads. Putting Amy in the same room as an infant doesn't seem like the wisest of moves, but the Brits like to live dangerously. And as this picture shows, they just don't see any harm in letting the music industry's most notorious addict down shots while singing drunken lullabies to their newborns.

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Some days we're so full of love for Harvey Weinstein that our weak, arrhythmic blogger hearts nearly explode. It was one thing last week when he brazenly moved Project Runway to Lifetime, pulling the rug out from a supposedly unwitting NBC. It was another thing entirely on Monday when Harvey rolled the rug up and started whacking NBC boss Jeff Zucker over the head with it:

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The heavily-reported decline of the American movie critic hasn't touched New York Times first-stringer A.O. Scott, who has gradually outgrown and stabilized our wildly fluctuating regard for him over the years. After a long period of wondering where he might have found all this new maturity and gravitas, a perceptive Scott reader points out today that like Pauline Kael, Andrew Sarris, James Agee and all the greats who preceded him, he simply stole from his kids:

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A story in Sunday's LAT did the unthinkable by finally pointing out the big Botoxed elephant in the room: no matter how painfully obvious it is to viewers, many stars who get nipped and tucked insist on denying it. But as the Times argues, just how many episodes of this season's Dancing With The Stars or Desperate Housewives can we sit through before drawing our own conclusions? Have you seen Priscilla Presley lately? And if celebrities are going so far as to undergo actual "head transplants," when will they finally start fessing up? We took a look at a few of the stars in question, such as Teri Hatcher and Carrie Fisher, to innocently throw some visual evidence into the mix.

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As we learned last week, Brat Pack alum Rob Lowe's method of dealing with a pesky sexual harrassment charge made by his nanny includes letting the world know just how angry he is via blog. And coining our favourite new entry into the celebrity lexicon by calling the nanny's claims "false terribles." But as we saw on the Today Show this morning, nanny Jessica Gibson isn't letting catchy phrases stop her from standing by her accusations. And she's got one heck of a pit bull for an attorney to say that for her. Though Gibson could barely get a word in this morning, People reveals the lascivious nature of what exactly qualifies as a false terrible. The gory details and video of her interview, after the jump.

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Just last year, the magic of MySpace brought us news that Lindsay Lohan wanted to marry lesbian wingwoman Sam Ronson and have her children. And what better way to begin that fairy tale than by shacking up together? Sources tell the NY Post that Ronson is so dedicated to making sure Lindsay stays clean, that she's taken to spending every night at the underpaid flesh-baring actress' LA abode. But this isn't the first time a ladies-loving girlfriend has checked in for a long-term stay at Casa Lohan, and as you'll learn, that arrangement didn't exactly lead to a sober future.

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If Robert De Niro's appearance at last night's Meryl Streep tribute in New York is any indication, all those haters who ridiculed the actor's agency switch last week might have another thing coming. To wit: De Niro killed. In a cruise-ship comic kind of way, perhaps, and filing through a fistful of index-carded one-liners, but still. This guy may yet pull down $20 million a picture if his timing keeps up, and he wasted no time soliciting his former co-star Streep to join him — if only someone at CAA would return his calls. Zing! Catch our exclusive video and a few more outtakes from De Niro's repertoire after the jump.

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Out of consideration for another boring-arse, unkillable civic ritual, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences will push back its 2008 Oscar nomination announcement to Jan. 22, 2009 — two days after the presidential inauguration in Washington, D.C. The quadrennial event apparently has a century-and-a-half of media seniority over the Oscars, thus giving the Academy little choice but to bump its usual Tuesday press conference to Thursday. But wait — it gets worse.

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