Well, it looks as if dear old Eddie may just have finally given up outwitting the stupid and inferior in the face of overwhelming apathy from a captive audience. Fortunately, I'm no stranger to ennui myself, and I'm an extraordinarily persistent fellow to boot, so I suppose I'll just have to take up the position of…

On the other hand, the end of that episode has a pretty strong implication that Fox is going to wind up on the wrong side of prison fuckery. How in the world did they sneak that past BS&P?

At the climax of the movie, Ronan and Tilda Swinton's Wicked Queen go head-to-head in an epic pale-off. Snow White wins when, after several hours, the Queen finally goes blind.

In retrospect, that amateur comic I filled a spiral notebook with in junior high was a pretty obvious ripoff of Bus Man.

You tell ol' Hitler… you tell him I was pretty.

Hopeless romantic that I am, I've been predisposed most of this week with the ongoing construction of an intricate Valentine's Day diorama - a gift for Jane, as a token of my undying affection. So far, my only concern lies in the number of "mannequins" I've managed to collect and process; I'm hopelessly overstocked on…

A tribute to people wearing sunglasses in movies? What a stupid and insulting waste of time that would be. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go read that delightful Inventory list of films with parades in them.

I say the Ultimate Warrior is still more of a disgrace. He's got more or less exactly the same anti-gay rhetoric as Chuck Norris, and his public appearance fees are so low you can afford to hire him for your office Christmas party.

The half-hearted, listless guitar solo at the end of that song never fails to bring my spirits down.

Gaahl would weigh in on the matter, but he's busy torching churches and running with wolves in the forest.

I loved Bronson, and not just because I have also participated in a prison hostage crisis while wearing round sunglasses.

I forced myself this weekend to sit through an entire "quirky" independent comedy without retching - in this case, Running With Scissors, which may have been a bad move in retrospect. Left without the dry, sardonic narration of Burroughs' original memoir, the characters are flat and under-developed, and the humor…

I'm not a huge fan of the band, but I do enjoy walking down the street while wearing the charming Tomb of the Mutilated T-shirt I bought at my local record store a few years back. To put it lightly, it's certainly a conversation piece.

You're the magic one, you tell me.

With my last breath, I curse irony!

Hurtful accusations and mob violence won't get us any closer to solving our problem. We must approach this calmly and rationally.

Dave's always had his finger on the vibrant pulse of young talent. If she screams for help, that's her fault.

Simple curiosity, dear boy. This girl has created a breathy, sensual alter-ego she uses for her public performances; therefore, human nature dictates that we hold vigil outside her window, Animal House-style, to try and catch a glimpse of her unguarded "real" self. It's Greta Garbo all over again, minus the talent.

"I Hate Manure!" will be performed in the manner of the rousing Broadway classic Oklahoma!, for additional brand recognition among those snotty theater types.

In Almost Famous, Kate Hudson played a languid young slut who clung to untalented rock stars like a sexual disease and convinced herself she was really an artsy MPDG with the tortured soul of a poet.